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December 14, 2017, 08:33:04 AM
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Badmovies.org Forum  |  Other Topics  |  Off Topic Discussion  |  The New BMDO Home of Anecdotes, Life Stories, Erotic Tales, or Alien Encounters. « previous next »
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Author Topic: The New BMDO Home of Anecdotes, Life Stories, Erotic Tales, or Alien Encounters.  (Read 3048 times)
RCMerchant
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« Reply #15 on: August 24, 2017, 07:22:45 AM »

In fact-I'll go first!
When I was 18 I used to chew tobacco. Skoal. A pinch between yer gum and yer cheek.
I was with my girlfreind at the time Kerrie. I was-...going down on her-if ya know what I mean-and when I was done I was kissing her.
" You chewing tobacco?"
"Yeah?"
She slapped me in the face.
Maybe it's because I had to get up for air and spit on the floor while I was doing "it".
uhmagawd
Hey-you wanted "erotic"-thats as good as it gets.  BounceGiggle
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« Reply #16 on: August 24, 2017, 07:38:24 AM »

Although I was kidding when I put "erotic" up there in this thread's title, I think the most erotic thing I ever did in my life is really very innocent, but when I was thirteen I went with my parents to have dinner with a couple who were connected to my father's work, and they had a son who was a few years older than me who was visually impressive. He played basketball to some regional acclaim and was one of those alpha, it-guy types, and my heart used to speed up when he talked to me, so naturally I had a brief crush on him.

Just a crush, mine you.

Well, he was not there the evening we were to his house and at one point dinner was done and my parents were still at the table with the boy's parents, talking, so I sat there, good posture, hands in my lap, not speaking unless spoken to, and finally the boy's mother noticed me and made a comment that I must be bored to death, feel free to go do something, so I said thank you, ma'am, (yes, I said that, I was insufferably polite), got up, went in the living room and could hear them in there talking, so somehow I got this idea to go upstairs, which was not really the thing to do in itself, but I did and found my way to the empty bedroom of the boy I had a tiny crush on, and I sneaked over and laid down in his bed for a minute, on my back, looking up at his ceiling, smelling him on the bed, ha, thinking, wow, I am in his bed!

And that's it. I got up fast and hurried back downstairs, but the idea that I was in his room, lying in his bed, well, it just seemed daring and cool, and I am not sure anything I've done since was quite the same rush as that was.

See, all innocent, but it sure seemed like some big huge deal at the time.

I was an incredibly good kid until I wasn't anymore.
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"If I should meet thee after long years,

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RCMerchant
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« Reply #17 on: August 24, 2017, 08:05:32 AM »

Dam-you should be a writer.
I would read a menu if you wrote it.
Even something as simple as that- above- you make interesting.
Your my favorite writer on this board-even when I "quit" I still came here to read your stuff.
Fantastic.  Thumbup
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« Reply #18 on: August 24, 2017, 12:22:35 PM »

Ok, just for you RC. I suggest no one else reads this. Especially if you are easily offended.

Still with me? Well I warned you. My conscious is clear. Well, if would be if I had one.

When I was going through my phase two training in a place called Cosford I got back in touch with an old friend, CJ. He was now living and working in Birmingham, where he'd been going to Uni when we'd lost touch a few years previously. I used to go into Birmingham at the weekends and go to the heavy metal pubs with some of my friends and meet up with CJ and his friends. There are quite a few of those bars in the city centre. Anyway, one night a friend of his from his Uni days who I will call Tanya, well because that was her name turned up. I got very drunk and apparently me and Tanya had a very good, long conversation of which I remember absolutely nothing. Anyway, we'd exchanged phone numbers and ended up writing letters to each other, and meeting up a few more times with friends. She was getting ready to move out of Birmingham and go down to London to move in with her life partner.

Anyway, towards the end of my training the group started to fall appart with people moving away to other parts of the country. CJ was having a leaving do in Coster Mongers and had left earlish. Me and Tanya had been chatting and at some point I'd offered her a back massage, so she ended up coming back to the base with me (I have no idea why I ended up taking her to the base instead of going back to her place as we weren't supposed to bring civilians onto camp after midnight, but there you go). After persuading the RAF police to let her in, we went back to my room. Luckily the other 3 guys I shared a room with had went to Liverpool for the weekend. I'll take a break here and describe Tanya a little.

She was about my height (so shorter than normal), had reddish hair and huge boobs. When it comes to boobs to be honest I prefer smaller ones, but Tanya's were massive to the point where she had to get her bra's custom made (I think she was a double G or double H, something like that) and came from Northern Ireland. In fact when it came to sides, she was on the opposite one from the one I was on as a government employee), so there I am bringing a lesbian, terrorist sympothiser onto a military base past curfew.

I did say on another post that the blood sucking girlfriend I used to have wasn't the strangest relationship I'd ever had.

Although in point of fact, neither was Tanya.

Anyway, we went back to my room (which was upstairs in the barracks. The significance of that will become apparent later) and I spent somewhere over two hours giving her a back rub, then working on her legs. At some point she turned over and started rubbing her calf along the back of my neck. I told her that was seriously turning me on and that if she didn't stop it I was going to jump on her. She didn't stop, so I tore her clothes off and we got busy.

On reflection this isn't something that should have surprised me as much as it did bearing in mind I've always been told I give really good massages and I always used to use them to seduce women.

Anyway, when I have sex unlike most men, I don't fall asleep right after. The more sex I get, the more I want. When I was younger I always used to search in vain for a woman who could last more than six hours at a time. The night included things like when Tanya needed to go to the toilet, me picking her up, putting her on my shoulders and us running naked through the barracks to the toilet. Luckily no one else was awake at that time. Anyway after about four hours of pretty much constant sex Tanya needed a rest, so we fell asleep. When she woke up two or three hours later we started up again.

Eventually I decided I needed to go to the mess for breakfast, so I got dressed, staggered out of the block on slightly wobbly legs and bumped into my buddy Jamie. I proceeded to start to tell him all about my adventures from the night before and he interupted me to remind me that in fact he was in the room beneath mine, and indeed his bed space was directly below mine, and from the bed creaking, noises from the floor boards and screams he was quite aware of just how good my night had been. She had wanted to try everything imaginable and about the only things I said no to was a rim job or watersports.

Anyway, I had breakfast, got back to my room and we had more sex which went on to around 4pm (with occasional breaks for food and water) when Tanya had to get the train home. I walked her to the station and she told me that she'd decided before moving in with her girlfriend she'd decided she wanted to try sex with a man once just to see what it was like, and after our first conversation she'd decided I was the one. To this day I cannot remember what the hell we talked about that night.

But I still keep on trying.

This wasn't the only night in Birmingham I can't remember that I really wish I couldn't. Like the time I had two lapdancers giving me a floor show, but that's another story. Jamie remembers what happened though and apparantly that too was a very good night.

Ah, the folly of youth.
« Last Edit: August 24, 2017, 12:51:10 PM by Dark Alex » Logged

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The world becomes a dream....


« Reply #19 on: August 24, 2017, 06:15:39 PM »

Dam-you should be a writer.
I would read a menu if you wrote it.
Even something as simple as that- above- you make interesting.
Your my favorite writer on this board-even when I "quit" I still came here to read your stuff.
Fantastic.  Thumbup

 Smile
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ER
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The world becomes a dream....


« Reply #20 on: August 24, 2017, 06:30:27 PM »

Ok, just for you RC. I suggest no one else reads this. Especially if you are easily offended.

Still with me? Well I warned you. My conscious is clear. Well, if would be if I had one.

When I was going through my phase two training in a place called Cosford I got back in touch with an old friend, CJ. He was now living and working in Birmingham, where he'd been going to Uni when we'd lost touch a few years previously. I used to go into Birmingham at the weekends and go to the heavy metal pubs with some of my friends and meet up with CJ and his friends. There are quite a few of those bars in the city centre. Anyway, one night a friend of his from his Uni days who I will call Tanya, well because that was her name turned up. I got very drunk and apparently me and Tanya had a very good, long conversation of which I remember absolutely nothing. Anyway, we'd exchanged phone numbers and ended up writing letters to each other, and meeting up a few more times with friends. She was getting ready to move out of Birmingham and go down to London to move in with her life partner.

Anyway, towards the end of my training the group started to fall appart with people moving away to other parts of the country. CJ was having a leaving do in Coster Mongers and had left earlish. Me and Tanya had been chatting and at some point I'd offered her a back massage, so she ended up coming back to the base with me (I have no idea why I ended up taking her to the base instead of going back to her place as we weren't supposed to bring civilians onto camp after midnight, but there you go). After persuading the RAF police to let her in, we went back to my room. Luckily the other 3 guys I shared a room with had went to Liverpool for the weekend. I'll take a break here and describe Tanya a little.

She was about my height (so shorter than normal), had reddish hair and huge boobs. When it comes to boobs to be honest I prefer smaller ones, but Tanya's were massive to the point where she had to get her bra's custom made (I think she was a double G or double H, something like that) and came from Northern Ireland. In fact when it came to sides, she was on the opposite one from the one I was on as a government employee), so there I am bringing a lesbian, terrorist sympothiser onto a military base past curfew.

I did say on another post that the blood sucking girlfriend I used to have wasn't the strangest relationship I'd ever had.

Although in point of fact, neither was Tanya.

Anyway, we went back to my room (which was upstairs in the barracks. The significance of that will become apparent later) and I spent somewhere over two hours giving her a back rub, then working on her legs. At some point she turned over and started rubbing her calf along the back of my neck. I told her that was seriously turning me on and that if she didn't stop it I was going to jump on her. She didn't stop, so I tore her clothes off and we got busy.

On reflection this isn't something that should have surprised me as much as it did bearing in mind I've always been told I give really good massages and I always used to use them to seduce women.

Anyway, when I have sex unlike most men, I don't fall asleep right after. The more sex I get, the more I want. When I was younger I always used to search in vain for a woman who could last more than six hours at a time. The night included things like when Tanya needed to go to the toilet, me picking her up, putting her on my shoulders and us running naked through the barracks to the toilet. Luckily no one else was awake at that time. Anyway after about four hours of pretty much constant sex Tanya needed a rest, so we fell asleep. When she woke up two or three hours later we started up again.

Eventually I decided I needed to go to the mess for breakfast, so I got dressed, staggered out of the block on slightly wobbly legs and bumped into my buddy Jamie. I proceeded to start to tell him all about my adventures from the night before and he interupted me to remind me that in fact he was in the room beneath mine, and indeed his bed space was directly below mine, and from the bed creaking, noises from the floor boards and screams he was quite aware of just how good my night had been. She had wanted to try everything imaginable and about the only things I said no to was a rim job or watersports.

Anyway, I had breakfast, got back to my room and we had more sex which went on to around 4pm (with occasional breaks for food and water) when Tanya had to get the train home. I walked her to the station and she told me that she'd decided before moving in with her girlfriend she'd decided she wanted to try sex with a man once just to see what it was like, and after our first conversation she'd decided I was the one. To this day I cannot remember what the hell we talked about that night.

But I still keep on trying.

This wasn't the only night in Birmingham I can't remember that I really wish I couldn't. Like the time I had two lapdancers giving me a floor show, but that's another story. Jamie remembers what happened though and apparantly that too was a very good night.

Ah, the folly of youth.

Hmm, let's do the math here...

Plus side: You nailed a lesbian, which to most men puts you above anyone who has ever had a virgin, however hot, and only one rung below the demigods who bang twins, though five below those immortal beings who bed blonde triplets, so +20 there.

However, she was a terrorist sympathizer from (gasp 'n shudder) the land of the Orangemen (do your mates in the RAF know?) so....well, -15 points there, so let's compute this....carry the two, divide by an all-nighter, factor in carrying on shoulders, minus more than a D-cup, subtract the cost of ripped clothing, plus three points for being able to understand someone from Northern Ireland (seriously, compared to Galwegians they talk like they're eating wet candy floss) ....and...it comes to, ummm, a cumulative swivvying score of thirty-six.

Okay, you are officially above Barney Stinson, but well below the Fonz. In short, well done, my friend, well done.
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« Reply #21 on: August 24, 2017, 08:34:23 PM »

I am NOT giving you pervs my erotic tales for free. You'll have to sign up for my paid newsletter, "The Erotic Adventures of Reverend Powell." I assure you, they are the eroticest...
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"Clive [Barker]'s idea of a great time is to have a nightmare about a woman with three heads and no skin who flays your body with a pitchfork. To give you some idea, NIGHTBREED has over 200 pus monsters, including one guy with a crescent moonhead like the McDonald's commercial and a fat guy with snakes that pop out of his stomach and eat your face off, and these are the GOOD GUYS. These are the people we're supposed to LIKE."-Joe Bob on NIGHTBREED
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« Reply #22 on: August 24, 2017, 08:46:46 PM »

Tanya's were massive to the point where she had to get her bra's custom made (I think she was a double G or double H, something like that)

This is hilarious!  My mom was a size E and her boobs were huge.  So now I have a mental picture of a woman with comically large boobs riding around on your shoulders naked and wobbling all over the place.  Thank you for that.

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ER
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« Reply #23 on: August 24, 2017, 09:49:14 PM »

Since the market for Bigfoot porn dried up, I been thinking of wetting my toe in alien abduction erotica. My working title is Fifty Shades of Greys.
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« Reply #24 on: August 24, 2017, 10:26:00 PM »

This thread proves what I have long believed: I have the world's most boring sex life. Bluesad
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« Reply #25 on: August 25, 2017, 01:32:13 AM »

Tanya's were massive to the point where she had to get her bra's custom made (I think she was a double G or double H, something like that)

This is hilarious!  My mom was a size E and her boobs were huge.  So now I have a mental picture of a woman with comically large boobs riding around on your shoulders naked and wobbling all over the place.  Thank you for that.



Best pair of ear warmers I've ever had. I don't have time right now, but at some point I'll tell the story of how me and a bunch of school friends were almost lynched just after my 18th birthday by a mob of lesbians.
« Last Edit: August 25, 2017, 06:25:42 AM by Dark Alex » Logged

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« Reply #26 on: August 25, 2017, 08:49:33 AM »

Twenty years ago this week, I was living in my car far from home, in a college town, after walking away from a darn good life where people loved me, where I was safe, where I was mostly happy, and where my immediate future seemed sure and settled, where my family was, my home, and almost everyone I loved. I’d spent most of the summer wandering, thinking, driving, almost completely out of contact with anyone from home, and no one there, friend or family, could dissuade me from my undertaking. Whenever I would call home people there would try hard to get me to come back. They tried threats, pleas, rationalization, telling me how absolutely illogical it was that I was letting the fine university they thought I’d attend go, and telling me my behavior in leaving for any reason made no sense, just please, please stop whatever it was I was doing and come back. They even almost sent people my father worked with after me, the sort who wouldn’t have scrupled at abducting me and bringing me home. It was discussed, my grandfather was in favor of it, was ready to hire a detective on his own. I left because there was too much pressure on me, they concluded

Well, they didn’t know the half of it, not that there was ever really any excuse or justification for my behavior.

Admittedly I was doing strange things then, trying not to think about much of anything, and one morning mid-way across that lost summer of 1997, weeks after I left, I got up and without having any plan to do so, met these two college students who were doing a stretch of the northern Appalachian Trail before school started, so I bought some gear and walked it with them. Why not, you know? Why not.

Yes, just like that. In an unmoored existence you tend to do big things that later seem surreal.

These two guys were friendly, goofy, intelligent in a left-brain way, slightly granola-nerdy, always quoting Monty Python and sci-fi. They were safe, they were a little annoying, but they were new and therefore being in their company held appeal. There was no other attraction on my part. They gave me my Trail Name, and they taught me this tongue twister song in Polish, since one of them had a Polish grandma, a WWII bride.

One time I went a bit ahead of them and as I was camping alone on a moonless night a couple hundred yards off the trail, no town for ten miles, no other campers in sight when twilight fell a few hours earlier, I had a scary, sleepless episode where someone was close-by in the woods, smoking in the middle of nowhere, no good reason to be there, so near me in the unbroken darkness of a northeastern forest that I smelled their tobacco as they stayed in one place saying nothing, smoking cigarette after cigarette, benign or malevolent or neither I had no way of knowing, but this person never approached and never explained his presence, merely departed before dawn after being there through the entirety of the overnight hours.

In the morning I ran back to those guys as fast as I could go (which was pretty fast, being a tennis player and all) and stayed with them the rest of the way! We came back together and got my gear and about seventy feet uphill from where I was camping smashed cigarette butts littered the ground around a well-trodden spot, perfect for looking down at me. Who and why remains mystery to this day, though about a year in the future serial assaults occurred exactly on that segment of the Trail, and I’ve always wondered if it wasn’t the same person, maybe psyching himself up but not quite brave enough as he’d be in another year.

I’ve always been lucky. Not always good lucky, but always luck has written itself large in my life.

So I went back with the two guys, and as we walked over those days, we talked, of course, and they told me about their college, a public state university of the sort the administration at my nuclear furnace high school would have considered a letdown to have one of their honor students attend, and since I’d been in the upper-5% of my class, well, they’d have never spoken of me again if they knew I went there (which in time they did). And so just like that, I decided I’d go there too, since I think I’d been so programmed to believe that I had to go to college that not going wasn’t in my consciousness.

That’s also where I was, actually, when I found out Princess Diana had died, with these two guys, finishing up on the Appalachian Trail. While the rest of America had known the night before, we heard it on one of their little radios in the morning, and we all sort of froze and one of them said, “Just no way….”

Yeah, it was kind of like that. The 1990s was a comparatively innocent decade, and the sudden passing of an icon could register as huge news. Would it still today? I don’t think so. Not quite as much.

We reached the trailhead under Mount Katahdin, split up and went our separate ways, those guys and me, and despite going to the same university, we were never all three together at the same time again, though one did crash with me for a few days at my flat years down the road. The AT is like that, you get to know someone well and then when the trek ends, so does the shared affinity. You promise you’ll stay in touch yet you don’t. I’ve heard that from a lot of people. Just as well, though, I had never been so frazzled and messy in my life as I was stomping up and down the peaks of the northeast, so it was best they weren’t around telling stories of that grungy walk that I’d have had to live down when I returned to normal. (Or as close to normal as I got.)

So I was in school, a familiar place to me, having been in classes for most of my life, it was too easy after a Catholic curriculum, I was in a place I had never been before, knowing no one….and I was homeless, in case you forgot that part.

If you have to be homeless, a college town in definitely the way to go. Everyone is eclectic in a college town and people are so accustomed to thinking college students are weird that you can get away with openly saying, “I am living in my car” and no one much thinks the worse of you. You can take showers at the rec center, eat cheap, (sample Friday at the supermarket becomes a holiday), hang out on campus all day or in the library til late, and guys always seem happy to step up and take you to dinner, even if it’s just Taco Bell on the cheap.

It was the most amazing thing, though, no one there knew me. It was….mind blowing. No baggage, no smart reputation, no family breathing down my neck, just…a blank slate. Wow.

Plus it wasn’t as if I was stuck in my situation. All I ever had to do was call home and throw in the towel and any of a dozen people would have bailed me out, brought me home, wired me money, whatever I wanted, but though I’d call and talk to them, I felt there was a weakness in going that avenue, so I didn’t.  I slept in my back seat instead. Is that noble or is that stupid? Shrug.

What really tortured me, though, was knowing I had caused pain by leaving. Some of that I won’t even go into here. I may be making it sound like an adventure (or a mental collapse, I don’t know which tone this is taking on) but the fact is it was also my worst misdeed, my worst betrayal, my worst wronging of another person. That tormented me even beyond knowing I was worrying people, letting down their hopes in me. Although she and I were not especially close, one of my aunts in particular had moved Heaven and earth to get me into the university where I’d been accepted and where it was expected I would go since, well, I guess no sane high school grad would not want to go there.

The truth was that bird had flown that spring, just none of them knew. Also no one asked me if I wanted to go, they all just told me what an honor it was to get in, how lucky I was, how I was making them proud. It was the harvest of thirteen years of hard work and sacrifices. They had a party. My aunt bragged to the other partners at her law firm, for such things were the lifeblood of her cut-throat peer group: check out where my niece is going, can you top that? My high school mentioned it in their alum newsletter, ugh.

But for my own reasons I wanted to stay around the area, an irony considering I left it of my own volition in early July 1997, with just about zero forethought, fleeing, truthfully, leaving only a note, not even a letter, tearing someone apart, and why, really? Why? It’s not much of an exaggeration to say one day I was situated in my life, the next I was hundreds of miles away without any plan or itinerary or concept of what I was doing, where I was going, or how I was going to sustain this free-fall of retreat from everything and everyone.

I don’t know if I would have stayed away, if I could even have made it, but then something incredible happened. This guardian angel appeared while I was in a laundry mat and mentioned she had a class with me and said she found a nice two-bedroom apartment and was just about to post an ad for a roommate wanted, would I like the other bedroom? She said she’d wait til my funds came in from those few scholarships that were willing to transfer over, so, having had enough of my car doubling as an abode, I said sure, yeah, great.

We ended up living together for the next three years, until she moved in with her fiancé across town, and she was and in a way still is one of the best friends I’ve ever had. She looked out for me, making her friends my friends, badgering me into eating, being patient and without prying letting me tell her what I wanted to tell her about my life back home. (I got the impression that for a long time she thought I was like a refugee or something, poor, perhaps running away from something terrible, when no, I’d had a great life where I came from, a loving family, everything.)

We had fun, we did many things together, lucky enough to truly be friends and not just two people sharing a flat. She got the idea she wanted to become a Roman Catholic, why I couldn’t comprehend, and asked me to sponsor her, so I went to the RCIA program with her and, because the rules said one had to be in a state of grace, I even went to confession before the Easter Vigil, my first time doing that in many years, unloading everything on that poor priest, who proved the old saying is true “you can’t shock a priest in a confessional” but I bet his eyebrows were raised here and there on the other side of the blind.

I also became friends with my roommate’s family, especially her baby niece, a darling little thing, and her oldest brother, who worked for the National Park Service and was the person I’d most want around me if I ever had to face an outdoor survival situation. The man knew every trick in the book when it came to thriving in the wilderness, yet he wasn’t one of those hirsute hippie sorts, he was just darn cool.

Yet this at times amazing new life I had came with a price. I caused pain in going off and finding it. I betrayed trust, I turned away from someone at the worst time I could have, and over these twenty years I have reflected on the entire situation of how odd it was I met my future roommate as I did, beating all odds when such easy transitions from a car to a ready-made life aren’t supposed to happen except in (bad) movies. Sometimes in the deepest places of the night I have lain awake and thought of how my life came to a fork then, one path or the other. I can trace almost everything I have now, all of it, to making the choice I did, meeting my roommate, her making it possible for me to go on being there for the next four years, and….sometimes it has frightened me, the seeming improbability of it, how it almost smacks of, if not predestination, a sort of unseen manipulation, a thing awesome in itself to ponder: manipulation by whom, by what, for what reason? Yet I take it farther sometimes and wonder in the sleeplessness of night when logic is most distant and instinct strongest…well, frankly, WHAT made those events happen, her being where I was at exactly then, needing a roommate? Was it God, karma….the devil?

Because there is a flip side to this story. If a direct line can be drawn from my life now and that day, that meeting, that offer of a place to live, then a line, just as direct, can go from that day to someone I loved dying, someone who would almost certainly not have died so young, so purposelessly, so horribly had I come back, as I was right on the verge of doing, maybe that same day, had I not met the girl who became my roommate.

I do not know, no one does, what the nature of life really is. Maybe it is all random, just actions bumping into actions setting off reactions, chains of circumstances, no one overseeing it all, seconds and choices determining what is to be made of the great chaos of an indifferent universe.

Or maybe there is something behind it all, vying forces of good and evil, pulling and tugging, giving or taking free will, causing the illusion that we have will at all. And if so, maybe I can pinpoint one moment in my life, one stray trip to do my laundry, as a time when those opposing forces came closest to making themselves apparent, and was it ultimately the positive thing I thought it was, to be given a chance to stay? Or was it a curse in disguise, changing an entire future, causing a death?

I don’t suppose I’ll ever know.
« Last Edit: August 25, 2017, 09:03:20 AM by ER » Logged

"If I should meet thee after long years,

How shall I greet thee? With silence, and tears."

--Lord Byron
indianasmith
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« Reply #27 on: August 25, 2017, 04:46:05 PM »

Good grief you are brilliant!  Thumbup Thumbup
What a beautiful exposition of that crazy season of your life.
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ER
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« Reply #28 on: August 26, 2017, 09:13:38 AM »

While the children were off spending nights with various friends and grandparental units, we went out to Final Friday last night, this downtown/uptown once a month tour of galleries and live music venues and poetry readings that goes on from twilight until past midnight.

I was with my husband and my seventeen-year-old second cousin and his friend/possibly something more, I don't know. This other boy, about nineteen, was THEE most queenly gay man this side of a campy sit-com, just hilarious, even my cousin kind of laughed a time or two.

We walked for blocks and saw some good paintings, heard a cool Celtic death metal trio screech about Lady Government getting done violently by Father Anarchy, while they gave themselves whiplash, then it got a little late so I had to decide, go home with my husband or go fag-hagging with the gay crowd---their term, like it or lump it---as my cousin enthusiastically wanted me to, so I asked someone online to flip a coin for me, heads I'd go with my cousin, tails with my husband, and he took piece of ancient currency and flipped it and deprived me of my Dorothy time, so I kissed my cousin bye and said be safe (which is all kinds of "for real" when you love a too-active visually-attractive young gay male) and we split company then.

It was a lovely night with the feel of early October in the cool air, a crescent moon floating in the western sky, strictly good energy in the world, so my husband and I drove the long way home, first through the uptown, then onto winding empty country roads, and I sat sideways with my feet in his lap, my hair blowing out the window, it was really nice. At one point we saw a grey fox cross in front of us on a little curvy rural road that probably got a car an hour between dusk and dawn, and finally made it back after midnight, the house empty, quiet. A good word for it all might've been still.

It was a rare sort of evening out, one that used to be common a decade ago, but which grows harder and harder to make possible anymore, slipping off downtown, having limitless time to wander, to take a slow way home, and it was preternaturally wondrous in the late summer, normally this time of dripping humidity and heat waves broken only by thunderstorms, to have a kiss of autumn to the landscape outdoors, so nice to drive along and lean out the window and feel twenty-five again.

It was just a grand sort of time last night.
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"If I should meet thee after long years,

How shall I greet thee? With silence, and tears."

--Lord Byron
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« Reply #29 on: August 26, 2017, 12:20:41 PM »

So during our last year at school some friends asked me if I wanted to go see a band with them. It wasn't someone I had any interest in seeing (Carter The Unstoppable Sex Machine they were called and the only song of theirs I can remember was called Sheriff Fatman), but it was a week or two after my 18th birthday and we were going to spend the whole day up there drinking. So the day arrived and we headed up to Glasgow and started off in a pub called the Griffon (which is still there today and has very funny menu's) where I had my first legal pint of beer. We went from there to some other pubs, eventually ending up at a Student Uni wine tasting session before heading off to the concert. We'd had a good days drinking by this point and were all quite merry.

By the time we got to the gig the support act had already started, or at least that is what we thought when we got into the concert. There was an all female band playing, and a surprising amount of women in the concert and the band were playing some surprisingly rocky stuff which I was getting into and could headbang along with, my long hair flying everywhere. Then the band started taking their clothes, stripping down to nothing and many of the girls in the crowd followed suit.

Eighteen year old me was ecstatic.

Bobby, one of my school friends asked me to speak to a girl who had took her top off and was enthusiastically jumping up and down and introduce him to her. I turned sideways, she looked at me and immediately jumped on me and shoved her tongue down my throat before I could get a "Hi, my name is..." out. Her hand went straight to my zip, yanked it down and her hand shot inside.

Eighteen year old me was beyond ecstatic.

This alas is where it all went badly wrong.

On grasping what was inside my underwear she lept back, pulling her hand out which she then looked at as if it was diseased and needed to be cut off right away and with a look of horror on her face screamed "Your a man!".

Eighteen year old mes ego suddenly vanished in a cloud of "Huh?" To this day I am pretty sure that holds the record for the shortest time to go from something existing to not existing. The exact time properly involves words like quantum.

Right at that point the song the band had been playing ended and I am pretty sure all 1500 people in the venue turned round to stare at us. Suddenly we realised not only were there a lot of women at this concert, we were indeed the only guys in the place (including the bouncers). Somehow all the alcohol we'd been drinking seemed to instantly evaporated and we all sobered up quickly. Without any of us saying a word we sort of unconsciously formed a circle all standing back to back. It made me think of the old westerns where the settlers would form a circle with the wagons. This seemed very appropriate since the makeup the women were wearing very strangely felt more like warpaint. Anyway, we slowly backed the hell out of there all eyes on us and then when we were free of the crowd ran for it.

Anyway, that was the first of the three times a lesbian has cradled my balls and you've already heard the story of the second time that happened. The third time wasn't as interesting as either of the other two times though so I'll keep that story to myself.

After we got out the concert we noticed we had went into the wrong place for the gig. No idea how we got in with the wrong tickets, but eventually we made our way to where we were supposed to be and saw the band playing in the Barrowlands and not where ever the hell we had drunkenly staggered into. Everything else that happened that night though somehow felt like an anticlimax and for some reason when some pretty cute girl was trying to chat me up I just couldn't get interested.
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