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Other Topics => Off Topic Discussion => Topic started by: ER on August 23, 2017, 08:01:56 AM



Title: The New BMDO Home of Anecdotes, Life Stories, Erotic Tales, or Alien Encounters.
Post by: ER on August 23, 2017, 08:01:56 AM

All right, it's time for a new thread for rabbit-chases that go beyond the stray random thought. Anyone have any?

Like lately I been thinking about my paternal grandfather, gone almost exactly seventeen years to the week, a man I dearly loved, who arguably changed my life (in good ways) as very few others have. Though he stayed in almost supernaturally good shape til near the very end of his life and would go hiking with me in woods that challenged a twenty-year-old, his illogical love of smoking got him in the end, as something will ultimately torpedo all of us in due time. (Unless Ali G's "1 in 5" theory holds true...)

While he was an absolutely wonderful grandfather to me, my grandpa probably wasn’t the best sort of father to raise my dad, because they were as unlike as two men could be. All the males in my family, even my two paternal male cousins, Adam and Jared, have a slightly negative picture to report when it comes to our grandpa. (Adam once told Grandpa to ‘eff-off,' and Grandpa apparently tossed him off the patio deck.)

To put it bluntly, my grandfather was tough on men and expected much from them as conquerors, leaders, competitors. Girls, he believed, merited an entirely different set of parameters: look pretty, be strong inside, do credit to your family, and whenever possible accept the gracious side of existence as your domain. In a nutshell, rightly or wrongly, that’s how he felt.

When my dad was thirteen, Grandpa hit on the idea that taking up boxing would be good for a bookish lad like him. My dad didn’t like the idea, my grandma was horrified, but in this respect, my grandpa won (typically he didn't when he went head to head with my grandma over something) and to a gym in a rough part of town, my dad went.

At first Dad learned the ropes, how to punch, how to block and duck (especially how to duck, he’ll tell you) and how to hit a bag until his arms felt limp. Tolerable though not terrifying, but then the Saturday evening came, about a month into all this, for Dad to have his first fight. He says he couldn’t sleep, he was sick to his stomach, and was sure it would end badly. What’s worse, he was clearly not going to be equal to his opponent, a black kid from the rugged side of the tracks, so Dad knew he’d get creamed.

With Grandpa all but holding a bayonet to his son's back to get him there, my father went off to be sacrificed, and decided he’d at least try to die with dignity. So when the bell rang Dad charged from his corner, windmilling wild uncoordinated punches and actually driving the other fighter toward the ropes. One second Dad was swinging away, knowing a beating was coming, the next second, like someone had trimmed a minute out of a film, the referee was holding his hand above his head, proclaiming him winner.

What happened? I’m told it’s called a “Technical Knockout,” which occurs in several circumstances, one being if a fighter leaves the boxing ring, which Dad’s foe, who in retreat from the flurry of punches, apparently did when he tripped over his own feet and somehow landed outside the ropes.

Dad couldn’t believe his luck! He survived! He won! Grandpa, ringside, was so amused he let Dad quit boxing.

It was only years later that my dad hit on the truth, that Grandpa had arranged the whole thing, paying the other fighter to take a fall, though the deal was the match would last longer than the thirty seconds it did.

Still, bravery is bravery, and my dad can say to this day he retired from the ring undefeated.

So that's today's tale from the Ellieverse. Feel free to add your own bit to get the thread going.

Namaste!


Title: Re: The New BMDO Home of Anecdotes, Life Stories, Erotic Tales, or Alien Encounters.
Post by: RCMerchant on August 23, 2017, 08:45:00 PM
Sounds like yer Grandpa was a John Wayne kinda guy!
I hate John Wayne.  :hatred:
That's a good story though. You really missed yer calling-you should be a professional writer.
Erotic stories? really?
Like anyone here on a geek movie board has any erotic stories to tell!  :buggedout:
I have disgusting sex stories-far from erotic-you don't want to hear.
I can tell you a story about why I quite chewing tobacco-but it's sick-and no one really wants to hear that "erotic" story.


Title: Re: The New BMDO Home of Anecdotes, Life Stories, Erotic Tales, or Alien Encounters.
Post by: RCMerchant on August 23, 2017, 08:58:02 PM
I do have an unusual 'ghost' story to tell-
 in 1968,when I was about 6 years old we lived in Wappinger Falls,NY. In the country. Across the street was a field with a dirt oval track that teenagers would race they're jalopys-(thats slang for junk cars).
Anyway-me and my older brother Mike-he was 9-were playing out there-looking for hubcaps and snakes. Mike was on the far left hand side-near the woods-I was in the middle-high grass and weeds. He called me-"Ronny-look what I found!" So I started running towards him-and as I was running-I glanced to the side-and a girl with pigtails and glasses was beside me running too! I stopped and spun around in circles-she wasn't there.
Now-you may think "oh-just a kids imagination'" And I would agree-but here's the kicker.
When I got to the other end,my brother asked me-"Where did that girl go to?"
Wooooeeeeooo!  :buggedout:


Title: Re: The New BMDO Home of Anecdotes, Life Stories, Erotic Tales, or Alien Encounters.
Post by: Dark Alex on August 24, 2017, 12:31:37 AM
I was once seduced by a lesbian. Does that count as an erotic tale?


Title: Re: The New BMDO Home of Anecdotes, Life Stories, Erotic Tales, or Alien Encounters.
Post by: RCMerchant on August 24, 2017, 06:18:45 AM
I was once seduced by a lesbian. Does that count as an erotic tale?

I think it would -please tell!
I had  an episode with lesbians-I wouldn't call it erotic-more like violent sex. That's a story in itself.
My Cousin Corky and her girlfreind. Neither one are very pretty. Aint no Penthouse  Stories s**t.


Oh-Alex-Tell the tale-! This is ER-story thread-flesh it out!


Title: Re: The New BMDO Home of Anecdotes, Life Stories, Erotic Tales, or Alien Encounters.
Post by: Trevor on August 24, 2017, 06:27:14 AM
I was going to tell the story of how a co-worker friend and I once got all hot, heavy and sweaty with each other but I don't want to gross anyone out.  :buggedout: :wink:


Title: Re: The New BMDO Home of Anecdotes, Life Stories, Erotic Tales, or Alien Encounters.
Post by: RCMerchant on August 24, 2017, 06:31:49 AM
More mundane-
I went to see my Dad before he died in June.. I saw my sister Wendy. She had my brother Richie's ashes. He shot himself some years back. Richie was my best freind.My little brother.I asked her for his ashes. She gave them to me. In a wooden box.
The night after I had a bat in my house.-I had to chase it out with a broom.
On my birthday I had a bat in the house-I had to chase it out with a broom.
We never had bats in the house.


Title: Re: The New BMDO Home of Anecdotes, Life Stories, Erotic Tales, or Alien Encounters.
Post by: RCMerchant on August 24, 2017, 06:33:29 AM
I was going to tell the story of how a co-worker friend and I once got all hot, heavy and sweaty with each other but I don't want to gross anyone out.  :buggedout: :wink:
Oh-please tell! This is bad movies-we like disgusting!  :thumbup:


Title: Re: The New BMDO Home of Anecdotes, Life Stories, Erotic Tales, or Alien Encounters.
Post by: Trevor on August 24, 2017, 06:37:56 AM
I was going to tell the story of how a co-worker friend and I once got all hot, heavy and sweaty with each other but I don't want to gross anyone out.  :buggedout: :wink:
Oh-please tell! This is bad movies-we like disgusting!  :thumbup:

 :teddyr: :teddyr:

If I tell it, I will have to go take two showers later.  :wink:


Title: Re: The New BMDO Home of Anecdotes, Life Stories, Erotic Tales, or Alien Encounters.
Post by: RCMerchant on August 24, 2017, 06:56:53 AM
I was going to tell the story of how a co-worker friend and I once got all hot, heavy and sweaty with each other but I don't want to gross anyone out.  :buggedout: :wink:
Oh-please tell! This is bad movies-we like disgusting!  :thumbup:

 :teddyr: :teddyr:

If I tell it, I will have to go take two showers later.  :wink:
I will tell my disgusting chewing tobacco story if you tell yours!


Title: Re: The New BMDO Home of Anecdotes, Life Stories, Erotic Tales, or Alien Encounters.
Post by: RCMerchant on August 24, 2017, 07:05:37 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".


Title: Re: The New BMDO Home of Anecdotes, Life Stories, Erotic Tales, or Alien Encounters.
Post by: Trevor on August 24, 2017, 07:11:55 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".

 :buggedout: :buggedout: +  :bouncegiggle: :bouncegiggle: :bouncegiggle:

I needed that laugh, thanks.


Title: Re: The New BMDO Home of Anecdotes, Life Stories, Erotic Tales, or Alien Encounters.
Post by: ER on August 24, 2017, 07:20:56 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


Title: Re: The New BMDO Home of Anecdotes, Life Stories, Erotic Tales, or Alien Encounters.
Post by: ER on August 24, 2017, 07:21:35 AM
Sounds like yer Grandpa was a John Wayne kinda guy!
I hate John Wayne.  :hatred:
That's a good story though. You really missed yer calling-you should be a professional writer.
Erotic stories? really?
Like anyone here on a geek movie board has any erotic stories to tell!  :buggedout:
I have disgusting sex stories-far from erotic-you don't want to hear.
I can tell you a story about why I quite chewing tobacco-but it's sick-and no one really wants to hear that "erotic" story.

Yep, my grandpa was definitely a John Wayne sort. You nailed it, Ronny.


Title: Re: The New BMDO Home of Anecdotes, Life Stories, Erotic Tales, or Alien Encounters.
Post by: ER on August 24, 2017, 07:22:22 AM
I do have an unusual 'ghost' story to tell-
 in 1968,when I was about 6 years old we lived in Wappinger Falls,NY. In the country. Across the street was a field with a dirt oval track that teenagers would race they're jalopys-(thats slang for junk cars).
Anyway-me and my older brother Mike-he was 9-were playing out there-looking for hubcaps and snakes. Mike was on the far left hand side-near the woods-I was in the middle-high grass and weeds. He called me-"Ronny-look what I found!" So I started running towards him-and as I was running-I glanced to the side-and a girl with pigtails and glasses was beside me running too! I stopped and spun around in circles-she wasn't there.
Now-you may think "oh-just a kids imagination'" And I would agree-but here's the kicker.
When I got to the other end,my brother asked me-"Where did that girl go to?"
Wooooeeeeooo!  :buggedout:

Man, that's slightly creepy. Cool happening!


Title: Re: The New BMDO Home of Anecdotes, Life Stories, Erotic Tales, or Alien Encounters.
Post by: RCMerchant 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:


Title: Re: The New BMDO Home of Anecdotes, Life Stories, Erotic Tales, or Alien Encounters.
Post by: ER 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.


Title: Re: The New BMDO Home of Anecdotes, Life Stories, Erotic Tales, or Alien Encounters.
Post by: RCMerchant 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:


Title: Re: The New BMDO Home of Anecdotes, Life Stories, Erotic Tales, or Alien Encounters.
Post by: Dark Alex 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.


Title: Re: The New BMDO Home of Anecdotes, Life Stories, Erotic Tales, or Alien Encounters.
Post by: ER 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:


Title: Re: The New BMDO Home of Anecdotes, Life Stories, Erotic Tales, or Alien Encounters.
Post by: ER 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.


Title: Re: The New BMDO Home of Anecdotes, Life Stories, Erotic Tales, or Alien Encounters.
Post by: Rev. Powell 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...


Title: Re: The New BMDO Home of Anecdotes, Life Stories, Erotic Tales, or Alien Encounters.
Post by: Paquita 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.



Title: Re: The New BMDO Home of Anecdotes, Life Stories, Erotic Tales, or Alien Encounters.
Post by: ER 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.


Title: Re: The New BMDO Home of Anecdotes, Life Stories, Erotic Tales, or Alien Encounters.
Post by: indianasmith 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:


Title: Re: The New BMDO Home of Anecdotes, Life Stories, Erotic Tales, or Alien Encounters.
Post by: Dark Alex 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.


Title: Re: The New BMDO Home of Anecdotes, Life Stories, Erotic Tales, or Alien Encounters.
Post by: ER 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.


Title: Re: The New BMDO Home of Anecdotes, Life Stories, Erotic Tales, or Alien Encounters.
Post by: indianasmith 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.


Title: Re: The New BMDO Home of Anecdotes, Life Stories, Erotic Tales, or Alien Encounters.
Post by: ER 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.


Title: Re: The New BMDO Home of Anecdotes, Life Stories, Erotic Tales, or Alien Encounters.
Post by: Dark Alex 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.


Title: Re: The New BMDO Home of Anecdotes, Life Stories, Erotic Tales, or Alien Encounters.
Post by: indianasmith on August 26, 2017, 12:41:04 PM
You have led an interesting life, sir!


Title: Re: The New BMDO Home of Anecdotes, Life Stories, Erotic Tales, or Alien Encounters.
Post by: Dark Alex on August 26, 2017, 02:20:57 PM
And yet when I am on the phone I can never think of anything to talk to people about.


Title: Re: The New BMDO Home of Anecdotes, Life Stories, Erotic Tales, or Alien Encounters.
Post by: ER on August 27, 2017, 10:45:04 AM
Though my nine-year-old godson, whose name I can barely make myself speak, comes from a family where the other men are notably daring and accomplished (his father used to fly ultralights; his maternal grandfather once made twenty-percent commission on selling P&G $5,000,000.00 in banner ads for the ATP tournaments worldwide largely through force of personality; his maternal uncle had enough credits to graduate from high school in eleventh grade and had disturbingly zero fear of heights and used to take me, much less brave, up on tall places just for fun) my godson himself has more fear of illogical things than any child or person of any age I have ever known.

He is terrified of being alone in a closed-off room, and closed doors in general unnerve him.

He is uncomfortable with stuffed animals, dolls, even action figures.

He sleeps with his head covered, even in 100 degree weather, and can’t get to sleep unless he is wearing socks.

Until recently he could not stand buttons on any item of clothing, he’d melt down, not in a bratty way, but like he was truly disturbed, though recently he started wearing a button-down dress shirt to church, which we all take as a hopeful sign.

Baths freak him out, he cannot stand being submerged in bathwater even a few inches, showers don't bother him but he can only take them when someone is sitting in the bathroom outside the shower, or if someone is in the hall. Though baths scare him, he likes swimming in a pool just fine.

Most cartoons disturb him. He says, "They aren't real. They aren’t real.”

He will almost always under all circumstances, ask someone else to open a door first and walk into a room ahead of him. This includes elevators and revolving doors. His mother has a bead curtain on this one archway, and he will not under any circumstances pass through it unless someone else holds it aside for him, then he scurries past real quickly.

He has some odd fascination with the color orange, and sometimes---I am NOT kidding---carries a carrot in his pocket or backpack, and takes it out and looks at it.

These are just some of his peculiarities. Everyone has strange preferences, mostly these preferences of his can be catered to or dealt with, but, see, he also has a lot of...fear in him.

I do not know exactly why this child has the fear levels he does, whether it is something inside his brain, some strange episode in his life, or as my New Age-minded friend Mitch suggests "past-life trauma" (he claims his favorite medium told him my godson was a Soviet partisan executed in 1941 by being tied up in a group and run over by a German tank, and the terror still reverberates in his cellular memory) but much scares this boy, everything from stuffed animals to being in a room alone. He makes all right grades, sometimes excellent grades, he reads at a high grade level, but he is vulnerable to other kids capitalizing on his idiosyncrasies and picking on him, and even his teachers lose patience after a while because he is so high maintenance. (My oldest daughter has zero patience with him, though I tell her he's her guest, so she grits her teeth and tries to pretend.)

Until he was six he ended up sleeping in his parents' room on a cot at the foot of their bed because they found that easier than listening to him scream and having to take him back to his room over and over each night when he'd run to their room the instant he was tucked in bed. Now he's progressed to sleeping alone but with the door open and a bright nightlight in the wall and a baby monitor on so he can wake up and hear the sound, even the sound of silence, coming from his parents’ bedroom.

Sometimes I have thought he needs to toughen up and have thought okay, let him scream all night, he'll get over it, but I do think it's more than that. He's been tested and is said not to be autistic, he does not mind being touched, for instance, like his hand held or anything like that, he had a CAT scan and nothing was noticeably wrong with his brain. He's seen therapists and counselors and nothing has changed. He could be drugged into docility, I suppose, which is their suggestion, the therapists, but his parents don't want that for him, so they've found ways to live around his peculiarities and keep their fingers crossed he'll outgrow his ongoing terrors and quirks.

In a way I wonder if there is not something in his brain itself, something that does not show up on a scan, that relates to how his uncle was. His uncle had a rare perceptual condition called synesthesia, that left him smelling colors and tasting certain sensations of touch, associating various people with specific sounds. I wonder if this boy's disorders are not somehow similar, some wrinkle in a lobe that went into one condition for his uncle and has become fear-oriented with him.

He, my godson, spends the night over at our house a few times a year, less than he used to, comes over and hangs out sometimes, and he has a lot of charm going for him, he's not some quivering nerd and he's not overweight either as it seems a lot of children in his generation are, he's a nice-looking well-spoken boy, and sometimes he seems almost normal, but it's in small odd matters where his sad strangeness comes through. Like last time he was spending the night with us/me, he was terrified to go into the bathroom alone, daytime, nighttime, he cannot tolerate being alone behind a closed door. I asked if he goes alone at his house and he said, yes, but he leaves the door open, so I said okay, leave the door open. Before bed that night he asked if I would wait outside in the hall by the bathroom, so I said (sigh) all right. So he went in and as I was waiting out in the hall near the un-shut door, I heard him open the cabinet, pull back the shower curtain, apparently look all around for....whatever, before he felt safe to pee.

Not real reassuring.

We talked later before he went to sleep (naturally he wanted me to stay with him while he dosed off) and I tried to steer him toward why he is this way, though I know it is a mystery to him and he can't like being the way he is. I used to wonder about abuse, unlikely as that seemed to me since I know his parents and I have never seen any evidence of it, and I have kept it in mind, believe me, I'm not so naive as not to have thought of it, and he isn't afraid of his parents (he did used to be a little quiet around them compared to his talkative self around me) he doesn't show any sign of hiding abuse or anything, no history of "falls" giving him bruises or sudden urgent care visits, he just....has a lot of nervous worries and bizarre phobias.

But anyway, I talked to him that night and I kept waiting for him to say something out of The Sixth Sense, like, "I see dead people. There’s one right behind you" But, no, nothing even explicable like that, he is simply...a weird kid.

This summer his maternal grandfather, who probably never knew timid moment in his life, took him to Costa Rica, where they did zipline and walked on rope bridges and swam in two oceans, saw caimans and snakes and birds and had a good time, some of it in a tent under the stars in a rain forest, and my godson did fine, wasn't worried about sliding down ropes or any of that, he didn't wuss out, but there, too, he was scared to be left alone in a closed room, even for a minute. That is his singular terror, being alone, anywhere, anytime, for any reason, if a door is shut. Left alone in a shut-off room he gets panic episodes that can be horrifying. Even opening a hotel room door to the hallway will placate him, but a closed room, alone....he goes off the scale.

Soooo, in a nutshell that's my godson, and I do hope he finds ways to overcome his issues, because I don’t wish that abnormal a life on anyone, let alone someone for whom I care.


Title: Re: The New BMDO Home of Anecdotes, Life Stories, Erotic Tales, or Alien Encounters.
Post by: Paquita on August 27, 2017, 01:17:53 PM

Until recently he could not stand buttons on any item of clothing, he’d melt down, not in a bratty way, but like he was truly disturbed, though recently he started wearing a button-down dress shirt to church, which we all take as a hopeful sign.


This is actually a real thing and runs in my family.  I still don't like buttons, but I can coexist with them.  I used to have fits about them before I was 5, especially the rivets on jeans, and I remember my mom forcing me to look at them and telling me the story about how she had to stand in a long line behind a girl who had buttons down her back and she forced herself to get over it that day.    My uncle never really got over it though.  He doesn't freak out or anything like he used to as a kid, but he just won't put up with them.

I also used to be afraid of being in a room alone when I was really young and I remember it was because I was certain when I left the room to go back into another room with people everyone would be dead and turned into scarecrow-like dolls.  I'd spend really long periods of time convincing myself it was safe to leave the room.  This was long gone by the time I was 9 though.

Poor kid.. I hope he gets over these things too. 



Title: Re: The New BMDO Home of Anecdotes, Life Stories, Erotic Tales, or Alien Encounters.
Post by: Dark Alex on August 27, 2017, 02:18:30 PM
I hope its something he grows out of. Sounds like he is getting the help he will need along the way.


Title: Re: The New BMDO Home of Anecdotes, Life Stories, Erotic Tales, or Alien Encounters.
Post by: javakoala on August 27, 2017, 02:57:30 PM
I think I must be related to this kid somehow. Except I was more like Paquita, I was okay in a room with the door closed, but scared of what was on the other side.

Nice to know these things are still with me.  :lookingup: :hatred:

But, in the famous words of someone, somewhere, "Oh well."   :cheers:


Title: Re: The New BMDO Home of Anecdotes, Life Stories, Erotic Tales, or Alien Encounters.
Post by: Trevor on August 28, 2017, 04:47:13 AM
We talked later before he went to sleep (naturally he wanted me to stay with him while he dosed off) and I tried to steer him toward why he is this way, though I know it is a mystery to him and he can't like being the way he is. I used to wonder about abuse, unlikely as that seemed to me since I know his parents and I have never seen any evidence of it, and I have kept it in mind, believe me, I'm not so naive as not to have thought of it, and he isn't afraid of his parents (he did used to be a little quiet around them compared to his talkative self around me) he doesn't show any sign of hiding abuse or anything, no history of "falls" giving him bruises or sudden urgent care visits, he just....has a lot of nervous worries and bizarre phobias.

But anyway, I talked to him that night and I kept waiting for him to say something out of The Sixth Sense, like, "I see dead people. There’s one right behind you" But, no, nothing even explicable like that, he is simply...a weird kid.

This summer his maternal grandfather, who probably never knew timid moment in his life, took him to Costa Rica, where they did zipline and walked on rope bridges and swam in two oceans, saw caimans and snakes and birds and had a good time, some of it in a tent under the stars in a rain forest, and my godson did fine, wasn't worried about sliding down ropes or any of that, he didn't wuss out, but there, too, he was scared to be left alone in a closed room, even for a minute. That is his singular terror, being alone, anywhere, anytime, for any reason, if a door is shut. Left alone in a shut-off room he gets panic episodes that can be horrifying. Even opening a hotel room door to the hallway will placate him, but a closed room, alone....he goes off the scale.

Soooo, in a nutshell that's my godson, and I do hope he finds ways to overcome his issues, because I don’t wish that abnormal a life on anyone, let alone someone for whom I care.


Speaking as a child and later an adolescent abuse survivor, I feel that there might have been some abuse - maybe not physical but possibly verbal - in your godson's life and I feel you should talk to his parents. The abuse I suffered in my life stops with me and I will always tell young ones what happened to me and how they should prevent it happening to them.

There is no excuse for abuse. 


Title: Re: The New BMDO Home of Anecdotes, Life Stories, Erotic Tales, or Alien Encounters.
Post by: Trevor on August 28, 2017, 06:27:26 AM
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.

 :bouncegiggle: :bouncegiggle:

This left me wondering what would have happened if she put her hand inside MY undies.  :buggedout: :wink:


Title: Re: The New BMDO Home of Anecdotes, Life Stories, Erotic Tales, or Alien Encounters.
Post by: ER on August 28, 2017, 12:30:53 PM
If anyone cares to plunge into this mammoth diary entry, thanks, welcome to Friday-to-Saturday of possibly the best weekend of my entire life, beginning with spending the night with my cousin in a college town the day before, Friday in other words.

Maybe I'll post Sunday the 25th someday if anyone ever wanted to read it but it's sweetly painful now to recall that happy/sad long-ago day that only I'm left to remember. And if this September 24th was not enough in itself to register in retrospect as special, it was exactly one month before I nearly died in a truly strange accident when I fell playing tennis on October 24th. Life went from so wonderful to so awful in a matter of hours, and really, though I couldn't know it, this was almost the end of an era, the way life had always been and never would be again.

But I didn't know that yet, so my time with my cousin was just a lot of fun.

Background: My parents let fifteen-year-old me go be with my twenty-year-old cousin that weekend, and as it would turn out, assuming I'd stay gone til Sunday evening, what teenager wouldn't, I came back Saturday to find them gone: pre-cell phone, remember. I'd wake up Sunday morning to a still-empty house and find out they were on a river cruise, a hundred miles away. I went out the door like a shot, free as a bird, though that's another entry altogether

This is mostly about Friday night with my cousin, feeling old and cool to be with her....


Saturday September 24, 1994

Another long, long day after a long, long Friday. I have the willies tonight, things are deffo strange and unusual, it’s even thundering outside right now, so pack a lunch and eventually I’ll be done.

Truthfully? Truthfully I am writing to keep my mind off things. Home alone, it’s late, no clue where they are. Feels disturbing.

Dana picked me up (on time, Mom!) yesterday, and they gave the permission slip the FBI treatment and called Mom before they’d release me with her.

Dana told me to change out of my school uniform in the car while she drove, which isn’t easy to do the way she drives, and even under my jacket I felt like an exibitionist. So we got to Oxford in under an hour if that tells you anything, and walked right into Frankie’s and we tag teamed Roy and Jess at pool, and I wanted to play darts but drunk fratters were all over that, and Dana said messing with frat boys when they’re in a group is sketchy. And if SHE says don’t do something….!

Ended up going to Deb’s apartment (she’s the girl from last spring who had the nose ring and said I’d enjoy camping on the Appalachian Trail, the nature girl) and watching The X-Files on her tiny flickery TV, and then we all went in Dana’s Nissan down the road, left Deb at her boyfriend’s work, then Dana and I went to see her friend Scott, and Dana said it’d be a good night to get me stoned if I still wanted, and I said no but thanks anyway, and it didn’t come up again. (Way too much to lose because of Dad right now.)

We went in there and I loved Scott, he was hilariously campy. He had stories that were funnier than. He said I was the best audience he’s ever had, and I said thanks, and I said he ought to see me when I start laughing inappropriately at something serious. He said, “Hon, then never give a blowjob…..”

Which of course made me start again. He was too funny.

He microwaved us a prearranged frozen appetizer platter he STOLE from the Bill Knapps he works at as a waiter, and fixed us tropical punch and left the bottle of rum on the table and said add it or not whatever, so I didn’t but Dana got toasted and he was pretty giggly drunk too, and I felt real left out. He had funny stories and showed me he waxed his legs and even his arms, and I go, “Are you a cyclist or a swimmer?”

He laughed and Dana goes, “Tell her.”

He. Is. A. Part. Time. Drag Queen! Oh my GOD!

But he also said he went through this seriously horrible Baptist brainwashing program in Georgia in high school because his mom caught him on his bed with another boy both of them lying with their pants down doing you know what side by side to Patrick Swayze shirtless with Ghost paused on the screen, and they tried to un-gay him with prayer and by yelling at him that he was going to go to Hell, and it didn’t work and he said it left him hot for the youth pastor!

Oh my gosh!

Dana said you can’t un-gay somebody with prayer any more than you can change their eye color with prayer. Scott said, no, but sometimes you can pick-up other nice gay boys at those de-programming events and he had sex in the bathroom with some of them.

So we talked on his floor mostly and he just freaking loves Mariah Carey, and he sang along to every song that came up on her CD that he played and showed us pictures of him in drag. We didn’t go to sleep til 2-something. Even I was dead on my butt sleepy. I kept wondering, when were we going back to Dana’s place?

Well one little problem.

Dana and I ended up sleeping together on his queen size living room hide a bed because she didn’t tell me this but one reason I had to change in her car instead of her place is she had a knock down drag out clash with her roommates, and isn’t going back for a few days, which sucks because I wanted to see the kingsnakes. She said I should buy myself one, they’re only forty bucks, but somehow I don’t think Mom would go for that.

Dana was like, “Tell Aunt Cath Saint Patrick drove it to your room.”

We laid there for what must have been half an hour in the dark, talking. Dana said twenty is absolutely the last year you can be “a kid” and she’s going to enjoy it more than any year so far.  We talked about the future and long-term plans and she said she won’t have children before she’s thirty and won’t have them before she’s married and won’t marry before she’s thirty, cause she wants control over her life. She might live with men between now and then but doesn’t want a marriage or even too tight of a relationship. She wants to live her twenties to make memories. She had an ideal teenage spread of years and now plans to have her twenties be just as on schedule. Neither of us could quite see what the point to marriage is, but Dana said eventually she’ll do it.

I go will I and she goes yes either real early or real late probably.

When I’m eighteen and she’s twenty-two or twenty-three, she and I are going to take a cruise all around the Caribbean and hang out and party, see the Yucatan and drink in clubs and get bought drinks by dark men, and British ex-pats. The second being mine. I laughed but I said sure, I would do it. She held up her hand and so palm-to palm we swore we would. Then we both laughed and couldn’t stop but she finally said laughing like that hurts her skull.

She said she is going to stay in this area, because in the nineties Cincinnati has lost so much of its talent and youth to other cities, and if people only realized if they’d stay there’d be a young energy here, but people leave for Austin and Portland, and drain the area. Plus she said it creates an advantage being here because the competition is thinned out for jobs and stuff, you know?  She goes which one would you go to, Austin or Portland, and I go Portland, easy.

Finally her voice kind of trailed off a few times and she said she had to shut down. All in all I think my cousin is about the coolest human being of this generation I know.

I didn’t sleep well, though, but I was worn out, so I did pass out kind of, but the hide a bed was a thin foam mattress above metal slats. I would have slept on the floor, but I saw waterbugs crawling around in the dark in the places where the blue microwave clock made the floor visible. Dana also rolled to the middle of the bed the second she was asleep. I moved as far to the right as I could, and she kept crowding me in her sleep, so finally I pushed her back and she goes, “Quit trying to cop a feel and sleep, will you?” Ha. Well I did get some sleep but not one that’s going to win awards.

Ended up skipping tennis in Evendale this morning because I helped Dana go get her stuff and move out. She put some of it in her car trunk and piled on her seats, and left me on the sidewalk to watch some more she had stacked there while she got Rick to bring his van. She totally moved out today though. We hauled a lot of her things up to Rick’s attic, which he doesn’t officially own, it’s like shared storage space with the three other apartments in the building, and Dana is sure everything there is going to get stolen, which kind of turned her b***hy. I didn’t say so but from what she said her fight sounded kind of minor and I was thinking she might go straighten it out with them, but like I said I didn’t mention it.

I invited her to stay with me at home, but she’s going to stay tonight at Deb’s and then thinks she has a plan to get in a place she might actually like living in about three miles out of town.

She called Aunt Judith on the pay phone at Shell and rocked on her heels in her silver boots, which she wore because she said they’d get stolen instantly in the attic if she left them. The way she manipulates her mom, an otherwise un-manipulatable person, is past any words I have.

If Dad ever thinks I’m bad for lying about a guy, he should listen to his niece, because while I stood there drinking a Mt Dew, she conned AJ out of a deposit, and then Uncle Lark out of a bigger deposit, and she has to go to Hyde Park for AJ’s check, but Uncle Lark, who was in Dallas, wired it to her, and we went into Shell and picked up a voucher and drove to cash that at a Fifth-Third that had late Saturday hours all the way in Fairfield. It was a pretty shameless move on Dana’s part but, shrug.

THEN out of the blue when she had her money from the bank, she gave me two hundred dollars, put it in my hand, curled my fingers around it, and said it’s good to have emergency money! I couldn’t believe it, but she seemed happy to do it, just told me not to spend it, save it in a sock drawer in case I ever need it.

So I now have two hundred bucks in fifties sitting in my drawer!

She asked if I wanted to go see AJ with her, but it was after two in the afternoon and it was a long day, I hadn’t taken a shower even before moving her stuff, so I said please drop me off, so she did, and didn’t want to come in, even though I asked her to.

Nobody was home. I let Charlotte out back and she peed a long, long time, like she hadn’t been let out. That’s an important detail, by the way, that she hadn’t been out. I went up and called Brian, thinking it’d be a good day to finally hang out like he’s been asking since he got that money, assuming he has any left, which I don’t care about anyway, but no answer.

No luck with him anymore. Not since school started.

So walked Char, who wagged like a propeller to see me, and I let her sniff Mercury through the chain link fence at Rachel’s.

FINALLY Brian called me back and when I told him I was free, he cussed and griped and said he’d just told some guys he’d meet up with them and since one owed him fifty bucks he floated him from two weeks ago, he better go.

I got on his case about not getting drunk and he said he wouldn’t get wasted, that was for sure, and said he is the lightest drinker among his friends, and doesn’t know why I think it’s such a big deal, but he knows I am trying to look out for him, and he said he thinks that’s mostly sweet, and thanks. So we’ll see what “not getting wasted” turns out to mean, but I think he’s right about his drinking, and compared to the drinking scene at Miami, he’s moderate. I should probably lay off him about it.

By dinnertime I was starting to wonder where Mom and Dad were, so I took some money (not my emergency two hundred) and ordered tofu Pad Thai with extra lemon grass, and it got dark before it came, the delivery dude was not Thai at all, he was this red-haired creepy guy with a scruffy beard and he smelled like beer and drove an old ‘80s Sunbird. (I wrote his license plate number down, just in case….yeah, that freaky.) I gave him the whole ten to get him off the walk and gone. I got this paranoid idea of what if I started eating the Pad Thai and the doorbell rang and a Thai person was there with a paper bag and was like here’s your order! Like what am I really eating???

Seriously it was starting to get creepy.

So it was dark and I was still here alone. I almost felt like worrying, no note, nothing. Charlotte obviously hadn’t been let out in a long time when I got home today. I called G-Ma and she didn’t know where they were. I called Aunt Christie, and she didn’t know but asked if I wanted her to come get me. I said no thank you. Wyoming to here is a long way. I wondered if they heard me wrong and thought maybe I was spending tonight with Dana too. If I had a way to reach her I would have called Dana up and gone back over with her, but since she’s crashing at Deb’s…you know.

So eleven o’clock, here alone, I figure Mom and Dad, dead in a ditch. I took Char up to my room, locked the door, laid in bed with the light on, had the creeps like I can’t describe, and had to play some real mellow space music to level out, and started writing this long entry.

It is now 12:35 and no one is here with us and I have no idea what is going on.


Title: Re: The New BMDO Home of Anecdotes, Life Stories, Erotic Tales, or Alien Encounters.
Post by: ER on August 30, 2017, 08:11:58 PM
Went to a meeting today near an international airport, and across the table from us were these Bangladeshi gentlemen from Bristol. They were darker-complected than some Nigerians I have seen and gave the impression they should be using the dialect you get when you talk to a customer service rep about your debit card balance, but they had the crispest Oxbridge accents this side of BBC Two.

Within twenty minutes we reached an agreement with them regarding the matter at hand, though the person I was with said we actually had them within the first three minutes and the rest was pretense and dance on their parts. Letting them know that what they wanted for their campaign could be produced within a week was the key, since they were afraid of being relegated to second place by their competition. They had an idea and they needed to get the word out about it " veddy fahst."

So that wrapped up with handshakes and felt pseudo-anticlimactic considering it had loomed large in my head all week and arriving there I figured this was going to be an all-morning and possibly afternoon discussion marked by gives and takes, and I was left feeling almost light-headed, especially since in the elevator coming down (in a couple senses of the word since I had been surfing a strong adrenaline high heading in there) the man I was with said to me, "That went better than I realistically hoped. I would have gone down two more percent, but I caught fast that they wanted to get this going before their competition grabbed a share and now they're first out. So I upped it three points over what I was going to lay out there at first, and they went for that."

I think he was hyper too but it's hard to tell with him because he's good at presenting himself as composed, but I do know his default settings for hyper can go high indeed, but he was in a good mood and before the doors opened in the lobby he leaned back against the railing and laughed heartily and I asked, "You're into this. How did you live without this for so many years?"

Because after doing very well in the mid-1970s to the mid-1990s, he did a 180 in his life and spent most of this century in California, doing work for religious non-profits.

He said, "I loved that, too, and it was a different sort of good feeling but, yes, I missed this, and it always affirms your self-worth to exceed what you realistically thought you might come out of a deal with."

We had a whole blank slate of a day ahead since we'd both expected this to run on, so we went to this, like, lounge near the airport, sat at this table, not many people there yet before lunch, and he has not had a drink since 1996, not one, and I am not really into alcohol, so we just got these three-dollar waters, mine with lime, and life was good, you know, big score business-wise, easier than either of us dared hope (though my part in this was 10% of the heavy-lifting he was doing for it all) and so we sat there for three hours, coming back to earth, talking about old times and new times, and God and life and war and his daughter's strange habit, we've both remarked on over the years, of tapping her left fingertips with her right when she's thinking (shrug), and how she was a varsity gymnast in college around the turn of the century, and how demanding gymnastics is on a young body.

This server with an odd accent, vaguely Mebourne, Australia, kept coming around asking if we were ready for a drink yet, and he kept giving her ten dollar bills and saying more of the same, please, even though after the third time she did that the waters were just sitting there untouched, so I suppose the real politics of the circumstances were we were renting the table.

Eventually he paid me my bonus for the meeting in cash, and I thought how funny that would've looked if anyone had been there to see it, like a drug deal or worse, and even after he left I continued to sit there a bit longer, my brain feeling bubbly, and I thought wouldn't it be funny if I suddenly got on a jet and went somewhere at random?

"Where's your next destination?"

"Detroit."

"Lovely, one-way, please."

Yes, it was a giddy, funny, post-victory afternoon of doing almost nothing but sitting around drinking expensive water, but it made for a fun day.

Success is just plain cool.

I'm happy tonight...



Title: Re: The New BMDO Home of Anecdotes, Life Stories, Erotic Tales, or Alien Encounters.
Post by: indianasmith on August 30, 2017, 10:24:47 PM
I think we're all glad when you're happy!  :cheers:


Title: Re: The New BMDO Home of Anecdotes, Life Stories, Erotic Tales, or Alien Encounters.
Post by: ER on August 31, 2017, 02:26:50 PM
I remember the first time I ever connected with another person well enough to be privy to his secret self, one of three modes of identity we all possess alongside our public and private selves. I was fourteen and I'd never had that experience before, to be trusted to the point someone else opens his spirit and mind confiding in you, almost like free association, sometimes almost as if you're not even there.

I remember mostly feeling flattered to be so trusted and valued, to be considered worthy, but beyond that I was aware I was gaining insights into not just another person's mind but the male brain itself, and I found it a vaguely odd place, but compelling, almost addictive, to be brought into someone's thoughts that way. Firstly to have someone's trust at that level transcends most of life's experiences, secondly, I learned things I never would have guessed.

As I heard about goals and dreams and hopes and worries and the grand minutia of everyday life, I learned that just like girls, boys have to often be someone else outwardly, even while feeling differently inside. I learned that boys had their own set of emotions and thoughts they had to conceal, and that they got their feelings hurt a lot more often than it seemed they did. I found out boys didn't have it as easy as girls said, and that their existences required their own sort of courage. Last but not least I had it verified that men truly do go through life in a near-constant state of sexual preoccupation beyond anything I think I ever felt.

It was, my young self considered, as if men were born addicts, always looking for a fix, even a short-term one. Maybe, I thought, women really weren't as beautiful as we've always been told, maybe it's just that we're a sort of drug.

But mainly his talks with me were not sexual, just frank, often about school, working, his family, his friends, drinking sometimes, taking walks and thinking, writing, what books he'd read, what books he was going to write, though girls nearly always lay somewhere near the heart of them: girls who were cool, girls who were unattainable, a girl who drove a busted up pickup truck just to be unique, a girl who was cruel to him, another who was into him and he was not into her, my mother who was never on time, his mother whose need for reassurance of her worth centered on her wanting him to say bad things about his father, with whom he went to live when his parents split up.

He'd make me laugh describing his sister, three years younger than him, who lived with their mom, and how she always called him, day or night, with her every twitch of a problem, her voice high with emotion (like some little dog's, he claimed), her every new upset of insurmountable importance to her and barely of any moment to him, though he'd try to console her and talk her through, even though sometimes he told me she made him feel like leaping off the campus' tallest building was preferable to another hour playing therapist to her.

He told me of a girl he knew in high school, his first serious girlfriend, who kept saying she loved him but was so cold she scheduled their breakup months in advance, saying, "Well, we'll be at different colleges next year, why would I want that?" Her "enjoy this while it lasts" attitude was so pragmatic it puzzled him and on the last day before he drove north to his school, she literally shook his hand and said "Good luck." A week later she was with someone new.

He described his fascination with sitting in class in one of his lectures behind a girl who had beautiful hair, like silk, and how when she moved her hair would adjust as well, flowing like captured water suspended in mid-air. He rarely saw her face, was not sure he'd know her if she turned toward him anywhere else on campus, but her hair was perfection.

He told me all this, it drew me, it sometimes made me spellbound for his next tale, but also I'd think, huh, so that's what girls seem like to the other gender. Wonder what I am like?

He would tell me little things that made me think, and being far away as he was at the time, his surroundings began to take on an almost fairy tale aspect, garnerning glamour via distance among settings that were to him mundane and to me just the opposite. It was something I have never quite found again, maybe because it was new, a first exposure to a state of closeness I didn't theretofore know existed, but maybe, like some people say about their first kiss, I've spent my whole life since seeking to recapture that closeness, that feeling of there being no barrier between the heart and mind of another person and myself.

 


Title: Re: The New BMDO Home of Anecdotes, Life Stories, Erotic Tales, or Alien Encounters.
Post by: ER on September 06, 2017, 01:22:23 PM
I went out at mid-day, after my littlest got on her bus and rode off to the concentration camp, and I bought some books. One of them was David Sedaris' diary, less because I know much (yet) about Mr. Sedaris, more because I am interested in diaries. Though I will read it through if the Fates or Furies, whichever governs my days---I have a theory---spare my life a bit longer, I did thumb through and pick put a few entries at random, figuring that unlike a novel a diary isn't spoiled by non-linear participation, and besides, I bought it, I own it: et emit eam, et possidebunt eam.

Sedaris' entries and style aren't much like mine in my own utterly-confessional, sometimes second by second 6,000-page diary, but then again I've yet to encounter anyone save perhaps Anais Nin who comes close.

As I read, though, one entry in there from the late 1970s did introduce a friend of David Sedaris' who put me in mind of my own buddy Rob (funny, I always call him a buddy, not a friend, interesting) and how one day Rob decided he was going to start worshiping the Norse gods, his desire to be powerful running second only to his ambition to become a successful pornographer.

This was back in the days when he had not yet met the woman he eventually married, she being more down to earth and likely to have less patience with his fancies, telling him to put away childish things on weekdays and get a real job.

Still, before she came along with an inarguable force of transition rather like one of the Valkyrie Rob so admired, he did take to wearing Thor's hammer Mjolnyr around his neck, did start capitalizing the 'h" in "He" when he made reference to Odin, Thor, Loki or the denizens of that crowd, and he genuinely tried to face life with a warrior's bravery.

Sometimes I would go back into the woods with him while he sought out an ancient oak or a sacred grove, reasoning a day outdoors is seldom misspent, and besides, of everyone I knew he needed someone to look out for him. So I'd go and he'd tromp around gulping Mountain Dew, flask of sacramental honeymead on his belt, and finally he'd find the right tree (or get tired and say he did) and he'd pull out notebook paper on which he'd copied some supposed chant or other and obeisantly bellow out  phonetic word salad that sounded neat at least, and pour the mead onto the ground, inviting Thor to drink deep. Sometimes he'd bury a ceramic runestone he bought out of the classifieds of a horror movie magazine (mostly pre-internet, the middle-'90s) and when he was done I'd ask, "Do you feel empowered now, Rob?"

"I'm not sure yet, El, but it's supposed to let me see Asgard in my dreams."

"Wanna get out of here and do a border run?"

"Sure, Taco Bell sounds great."

I'd say this all lasted a year, maybe a little more, and sometimes when he was stoned and pensive sitting out under the stars in the summer, off school, he'd ask me if he was chasing his own tail by seeking mightiness in a largely dead pantheon of deities, and me, believing in nothing save science and intuition despite going to Mass six days a week for most of the year, did not quite have it in me to quash the boy's dreams, so I'd say, "Well, Rob, a pearl can't form around nothing, it has to have a grain of sand to grow around, so probably there is some form of truth to the old legends of northern Europe. Besides, since almost nobody is praying to them anymore, if Odin and his family are real, they'd be more likely to hear you."

That made him happy.

I think I've told in here before the tale of him getting his hammer taken by bullies, which was not the finest hour of a young man who modeled himself on a stand-your-ground crowd of Iron Age warriors, but no one likes to have his less admirable moments recounted, so I won't, I'll just say praying to Odin seemed to set him happy for a while, and seemed to make him a better person in some ways, and since ancestor worship played some small token bit in Norse religion, he even began being more polite to his mother.

I guess we should have anticipated the end coming for Rob's flirtation with going to Valhalla, this was, after all, a boy who cried after skipping ahead and reading the end of my copy of The Virgin Suicides one late night over at my house, and who then could not listen to that '70s song "Make It With You" without getting a lump in his throat in remembrance of those non-existent dead sisters, asking plaintively, "But, WHY did they all have to kill themselves? Even Mary, who got a second chance....? She was so hot, and probably a virgin."

("Hot and a virgin" described his fantasy girl. Race, hair color, income, religion, all unimportant as long as she was: 1. Hot, 2. a virgin. Therefore Mary's death hit him hard, and Lux's less so.)

I guess the fact youth comes before age is a gift to us all, letting us get certain things out of our systems, allowing us to play roles in childhood and adolescence no one would tolerate in us later, and so it makes me happy remembering back twenty-odd years to Rob's time of communing with his Viking heritage. It was brave of him in those pre-Cosplay times to be unique that way in a conservative city.

In fact, I'm sort of proud of him for it, and thought I'd say so now.





Title: Re: The New BMDO Home of Anecdotes, Life Stories, Erotic Tales, or Alien Encounters.
Post by: ER on September 08, 2017, 10:55:00 AM
I don’t know how other people felt about it, but the first time I had sex----it was the Ides of March---I briefly regarded myself as the stupidest person on the planet.

For years I’d been in love with someone older than me, until recently in this almost entirely chaste way, but the thing is a few weeks before I went to bed with him, I broke up with him on the phone just when things were at their very best between us, right on the heels of this wonderful night out together where we drove south into another state (stupidly brave) and stayed out really late among his school friends, all of them four or five years older than me, none making a big deal about our age difference (I could kind of present myself more maturely than most my age, I think) at this crazy little diner that literally had not closed since about the 1940s. Of anything that might have come next, virginal me dumping him---almost accidentally as if the words I was saying were as much a shock to me---was likely the last thing he could have expected, so he was crushed and puzzled. I do believe he thought I was kidding for a moment and then it was like from miles away I could feel the blood draining from his face as I said it, could hear his heart stop with a jolt then re-start fueled by adrenaline. After a few seconds he exploded at me with barely contained fury. I was doing that to him OVER THE PHONE????? To HIM? After everything?

He could have said a lot of mean things but he only hung up, his hurt and disbelief total.

Soon after I asked my worldlier cousin was that really bad or something, and she said yeah, except for cheating that was probably the most low-class thing she could think of to do to someone in a relationship, ending it (not quite intentionally) with a telephone call.

Ugh. You learn something new every day. Guess that’s what he, in college, got for being with a free-falling tenth grader living years ahead of her age.

Instantly, though, I was terribly sorry about doing that, basically I was sorry the same night I did it and tried to say so and begged forgiveness, promising I would never do something so callous and inexplicable again but he barely talked to me at first and this was during a bad time in my life in general, so one night I left him a long message telling him how all this sad, bleak stuff had recently gone wrong in my life, including my mother abruptly leaving (which he knew about) and my grandma having a stroke and being on pseudo-life support (which he did not since it happened when we were apart).

He came home later and after hearing my message talked to me a while on the phone, I having caught him when he was fairly buzzed from drinking with his friends, so he said he was sorry about all I was dealing with and he’d listen to me as long as his buzz lasted, so I talked and talked in the rapid-fire Irish way I sometime do, having picked it up from my mother, who mastered the practice from having to be quick to get a word out among all her siblings. Imagine a machine gun that shot words and you about got it.

Among many other things I let him know how I could not feel worse for letting him go over the phone, insisting it was not really what I’d wanted and I did not know why I said I did but I was soooo sorry.

I think to this day he took his sense of being aggrieved a little too far but he compared my contrition to someone who robbed a bank saying afterward how rotten they felt for the holdup, but the crime still happened. He had a point but jeesh, I regretted it, it wasn’t the real me who’d done that, I was all squeezed up in my mind with the problems around me, I’d just freaked and of course I didn’t want us to be apart, why didn’t he get that?

The fact he hadn’t gone out and replaced, me, which he could easily have done over the course of the last month, said a lot to me, so I said, “I know you love me too.”

He said, “I do, but so what. Apparently that doesn’t matter to you.”

It wasn’t that he was being sulky or hard-headed, he’d thought a long time and decided he had better cut and run if I was really that unstable (or cruel). Not to mention he was in college and I was in high school, so there was that. He was one of the top students in his department, an undergrad but Ph.D-bound, had had high honors several years before from one of the best high schools in the city, finishing so far ahead of schedule they gave him an assignment to work part of the day at my school, where I first met him as a seventh-grader, so if I had suddenly gone unstable and made noise about things, this future professor had a lot to lose at his university and wasn’t reckless as rule, he knew the razor’s edge he was walking and only the fact he cared about me the way he did kept him in a relationship that had sometimes been potentially dangerous. He also wasn’t a pervert (shrug, he was only four years older than me, big deal) and the unvarnished fact is we’d gone places together for years, talked and interacted with great depth, and he probably could have had sex with me when I was fourteen, but he wasn’t like that. He did genuinely love me and like me, and want good things for me. Years in the future he would ask me to marry him, and I said I would, but that’s another story.

After our talk, though, I went over to his apartment after school. I’d been there many times in happier occasions (in fact I almost had sex with him there the day I got my driver’s license), but now he actually wouldn’t answer the door for me (seriously!), so I stood there in my Catholic school uniform, in the cold, my legs freezing, his pervert voyeur neighbor barely hiding the fact he stared out at me. When I could stay no later I left but the second day I did that he finally did come out but just to say, “Go home, Evelyn. Go home.”

(He almost alone in my life called me by my birth name, Evelyn, not Ellie like most people do, though he also had a silly nickname he often used.)

And that was all he said, more or less, that time.

But I came back the next day, too, three days in a row, so he talked to me in my car and said he wasn’t really mad anymore just it was clear now had a complete failure of understanding when it came to me, his emotions must have blinded him to my flaws if I could cut him off like that ON THE PHONE, and besides no matter what he was feeling, things in my life were a mess all the way around and I had a lot more to think about than him, with my family degrading the way it was, illness, divorce, it wasn’t fair for him to be around me now, that I wasn’t even the same person anymore, and he could say that since he’d known me better than anyone since I was in seventh grade. So again he was saying just go home, leave him alone, yes, he did love me, he’d loved me since I was in middle school and he was in high school, he still loved me crazily and totally and foolishly now that he was in his third year in college, but apparently that didn’t matter.

He finally said, “Were you coming here thinking having sex with me would fix everything?”

I went, “Would it?”

He said, “It might.” But then he said he was kidding and went, “Well no matter what nothing is happening here today.”

Which shows how I had hit him hard by what I’d done, he was a twenty-year-old male, in love with me, turning down a chance to go upstairs with this sixteen-year-old virgin in a Catholic school uniform. (Incidentally he was probably the only guy I knew who was not particularly turned on by Catholic uniforms on girls, since he said he grew up seeing his sister wear one.)

He knew I’d been to hospital that morning to see my grandmother in intensive care, and he asked if I’d eaten anything, knowing I would often go these long stretches of time without food, and I admitted no, not since the day before, and he kind of shook his head and cussed and said I was self-destructive and he wasn’t always going to be there to look out for me so grow a brain, Evelyn, Jesus Christ, girl, quit starving yourself. So we went and I got something, which I wouldn’t have done if he hadn’t pushed me to do, then we sat in my car there talking, him with this thousand-yard stare and his left knee kind of pulled up toward him, and still all he said was to go be with my family and quit worrying about him. He said it as nicely as he could, sort of regretfully, like I was the cause of anguish to him and he to me, depthless heartbreak was likely, that I was someone he loved to his peril and pain (ultimately prophetic), but when we got back he said it again: “Go home.”

And he meant it.

So I did go, but the next day after school, from which I was totally disconnected all that year, I went back to his apartment, and that was one time too many.

I remember it seemed surreal to be in that situation, in his bed with him at long last, like it was all happening to another person, not me at all, and it also felt like leaping off a very high bridge must, thinking before you hit the water that what made total sense at the railing was a bad idea after all, but too late.

I didn’t say much, which weirded him out, I laid there and was probably barely worth the trouble, and I saw him do a double take at me afterward when I was sitting up, and later he told me I had no color in my face, though I’m not sure why because despite all I’d heard and been told by my cousin who was always trying to scare me off doing anything, it wasn’t bad in any way, or good either for that matter, just overwhelming. Strange. Unreal. Kind of like….a great washed-out blank canvas that I’d expected would be beautiful.

I left almost immediately after, again not saying much, and drove a few miles and stopped and walked around with this cramp in my thigh muscle, trying to figure out how I felt about getting what I thought I’d wanted, and it hit me that everything in the world was exactly the same as it had been, no different. Unpatched cracks in the sidewalk were still there, this overweight man was walking along carrying a grocery bag, birds were flying north with the nascent spring, dogs were barking, back home my mother, who was barely twice my age, would still be gone, my grandma would still be dying in a hospital, my father still had a job I had to lie to my friends about (“My dad’s a consultant…”), and to top it off, I had my asinine AP homework to do, same as I’d had every night since kindergarten. It was the same old world, and that seemed even more surreal.

Then I went home and to my shock my father was there, and he virtually never came home early, and I felt paranoid, like, well, how did he know? He even said let’s play chess and you can tell me about school today. So there I sat across a chessboard, my nerves fraying, feeling like (as I’ve sometimes said) the man in The Telltale Heart when he talked to the police with the body hidden under the floor, and I was trying to decide if this was coincidence or a mind game (I am just about positive it was a coincidence) but my father was not a man who missed much, it was his job not to miss things, a job he did well, I might add, and finally that hell ended and I went upstairs to my room and shut the door and thought about the day real deeply. My phone did not ring, which was good, I laid on my floor still in my school clothes and the shadows got longer and the light dimmer, and being me I wrote about things in my diary (which I always called a journal) without quite saying anything.

I began the entry with:

“Everything’s supposed to be different. I keep trying to make it different, and I can’t even in my own head.”

Mostly I felt like an idiot like in that old saying be careful what you wish for or you just might get it, and was sure somehow, some way, I had messed up everything with this person I loved, had messed up my entire life, had messed myself up with the universe itself, (not with God, because I was heuristic and did not believe in God or sin or damnation or reward or anything that was not empirical) and yet nothing was changed, same life, room, street, world, and that above all seemed the thing I could least process. The world had not altered, which was insultingly depressing.

So I heard nothing from the man I’d been with, what I was expecting to hear I am not sure, but then the next morning before my dad left for work at the same time I drove to school, he said to me, “I haven’t been keeping very good track of you lately, have I?”

Which again made me tailspin into thinking he somehow knew, but again, even across all these years I am all but certain his words only seemed overly significant to my guilty conscience. And for the record I was not a bad teenager, I didn’t get drunk or do drugs or make bad grades or say bad words or have the wrong sorts of friends or drive recklessly, and even my school, where I was in the top five-percent, was prestigious. I went to church, not entirely willingly, I did volunteer work, until an accident ended my desire I was good enough at tennis to be in line to join the pro tour, if I wanted. The fact that since the summer after eighth grade I’d been carrying on to the extent I was with a college student, lying about it to cover my tracks, was really my only misdeed.

The day after, I went to school, made it through the day absolutely uninterested in anything there, and then headed back to the apartment and he opened the door to me and he seemed cautious and I don’t know what else but he hardly looked at me with those amazing eyes he had, almost gray but with a faint splash of blue, but I was pretty much myself again, talked to him, and he lightened up and things felt awkward but good after weeks of upset. We walked out onto his balcony and he said this was a much better version of me than he was expecting, and I rested my chin on the railing while he confessed how he had spent the last day in dread waiting for me to come back and have some big dramatic episode, and the only question was how huge my drama was going to be.

I said, “I wouldn’t do that to you.”

He said, “Oh yeah you would.”

So he told me everything he’d hypothetically figured out to say to me when I unleashed at him, from reminding me he had told me to go home all those times, to saying I was the most brilliant but dense person he knew, that I could walk face first into a glacier and be like oh, I didn’t see that there.

It was like The Twilight Zone listening to this alternate reality version of how things were predicted to go, and I laughed but it also stung and I thought well that’s what he thinks of me, is it? I said, “All that didn’t happen, so it shows what you know about me.”

He had been looking outward but he turned his face to me and goes, “I think I know you pretty well.”

Great double meaning if ever I’ve heard it, it actually made my cheeks flush even though I laughed, but he did have a point, I could sometimes be like that, and he did…know me.

So all was well again, I’d never loved anyone more, and from then forward we more or less stayed involved for almost the rest of his life.




Title: Re: The New BMDO Home of Anecdotes, Life Stories, Erotic Tales, or Alien Encounters.
Post by: indianasmith on September 08, 2017, 06:48:09 PM
Your stories never get old, you know that?


Title: Re: The New BMDO Home of Anecdotes, Life Stories, Erotic Tales, or Alien Encounters.
Post by: ER on September 10, 2017, 01:13:16 PM

The summer after I graduated from college in 2001, I moved back to my hometown, yet I missed campus life enough to where I wanted to prolong my time among the Never-Never-Land college mindset a little longer, so I grabbed a vacant room in a house near a state university, and gave it a shot....resulting in one of my less successful experiments, right up there with crimping my hair at age ten, and trying to give my sea monkeys names at age five.

I don’t know whatever made me think it would be a good idea to move into a big house shared by a bunch of others roughly my age and apparently known for their parties, but I gave it a try and lasted two weeks. I don’t think I fully understood the extent to which the house, a mile from a state university, was home to partying and wildness, but when I mentioned it to my future husband after I met him later in the summer, even he’d heard of its reputation.

“You lived there?” he asked, amused and aghast.

“Yeah, for a second,” I confessed.

“I’m either impressed or I have seriously underestimated you…”

There were about nine people living in this large Victorian on a lovely tree-scaped avenue, no one over twenty-four, some not quite twenty, most pulling decent GPAs, and since I’d just moved back from a college town I figured it’d seem familiar to me, but nothing I experienced out east compared to this sub-Dixon Line den of sin. The late Bluto Blutarsky from Animal House would’ve felt right at home with the drinking and nightlife, and while I knew a couple people, one an education major who was mouse-ish until you put a few beers in her, I was a bad fit for the type of roommate they wanted.

I was clued-in to that fact my first afternoon when as I was putting my stuff away, one of the guys sharing the place, Denver, who weighted 300 pounds, came running into my room yelling at the top of his lungs and did a body slide through the air and landed on my bed, bounced off it and grabbed me by the hands, then started dancing by way of introduction. Next he whacked me on the posterior as he left and declared the party that night would be in my honor.

Um, thanks, Denny.

Actually there’d have been a party anyway but the theme was an effort at good-natured politeness.

Oh, these were nice folks who all no doubt grew up to work for P&G and the like, but they were on the other end of the party scale from me so that literally all night the music blared, laughter rolled, beer cans were crushed and their version of good times remained ever in progress, often with a great many extended friends and their friends and their friends’ friends invited to join in.

To make a long story short, I got the heck out of that house and hoped I wasn’t hurting any feelings doing so, but turns out it was days before most of them noticed I’d left.


Title: Re: The New BMDO Home of Anecdotes, Life Stories, Erotic Tales, or Alien Encounters.
Post by: ER on September 11, 2017, 08:07:56 AM
I have only played D&D once in my life, a summer night in 1996, but as I've mentioned I do like Magic the Gathering, and last night played a four-hand of it for the first time in a while.

I played against Rob and his wife Tara, both Friday Night MTG vets, much better than anyone I've ever gone up against, and I teamed with my second cousin, who in this post-high school summer leads a gypsy life, living with us sometimes, his parents other times, with a few friends here and there, not having his own place, but give him time, he'll be eighteen next week. I am decent at Magic, Tyler knows the rules but isn't experienced at it, the odds were against us but you never know when you'll have your own personal Agincourt (from the English side) so we dove in and gave it our best shot.

So in the first game my cousin Tyler and I both played black, not a great idea to have the same color, but, well...Rob played red, Tara was blue, and in the history of butt-kickings, the result of our first game falls somewhere among the Persian Gulf War of 1991, Mighty Casey At Bat, and anytime I ever played my dad chess. Each time Tyler or I would cast a decent spell, boom, Tara would counter it with blue, and then Rob would slam us with hefty direct damage with red, reducing our life totals round by round. We lasted maybe twelve minutes.

Second game, I said to Tyler, "Let's diversify." So I went green, he played white and blue, a good combo. Tara used straight up white, Rob brought in a four-color that left out white, since he hates order and unity, even a game concept. (RC would like Rob.)

Same result but we lasted a whole twenty minutes that time. I did hit both Rob and Tara with some nicely pumped up green creatures, did get some life gained, did block every one of Rob's flyers with Reach, but, hey, it was never close.

They wanted to go a third round but Tyler was in no mood and I said, "How about we just award you two a third victory and save time?"

Thing is, Tyler woke up unusually early today and sat downstairs reshuffling building his card decks, and the look on his face spoke of a determined desire for revenge. My oldest, who thinks Tyler is a minor god, said she'd play him for practice (she's not a bad player for eight) soooo, perhaps when next we meet Tara and Rob later in the week, the scales of fate will tip.

Still, it was fun, and I hope everyone else enjoyed their Sunday evening.


Title: Re: The New BMDO Home of Anecdotes, Life Stories, Erotic Tales, or Alien Encounters.
Post by: ER on September 24, 2017, 08:33:56 AM

Thursday May 17, 2007

(citing the time is pointless; we’re outside of time here)

Went to Auckland’s Sky City, and while there, well first off, went to the top of the Sky Tower, which is the tallest building in the southern hemisphere, being….let me double check my pamphlet…328 meters tall, so…um.. circa 1,008 feet, right? From the top the view of the city’s green volcanic hills was breathtaking, and Auckland, nestled and compact as it is, seemed almost small enough to be held. It wasn’t open-air, but even if this is the extreme sport Mecca of the world, I was floored to find there’s this base jumping outfit that lets you plunge off the deck right under the observation one and fall for sixteen seconds, hooked to a wire. I’d not do that, no sir-ee! Stayed up there on the upper deck for an hour and then ate lunch in the orbit deck’s restaurant. 

New Zealand reminds me a lot of a modernized Ireland, right down to mutton being served everyplace.

Then Landon wanted to go to the lowest, or main, deck and we were unlucky in that it got cloudier than when we were on top; tomorrow it’s supposed to be sunny, but oh well, and they have a section around the outer ring where you can walk on these glass floors, and it’s perfectly safe, of course, but your instincts say you’re going to fall a thousand feet to a nasty, wet death.

Landon walked out on the glass, and I was scared to, which he thought was funny and so did others standing nearby, and he teased me and told me to keep my eyes closed or look at him and walk out, but I just couldn’t, I mean I could not bring myself to do it, it was like my feet were glued down, so he pulled me over, I gripped him in a death hug, and after a few seconds, it was no biggie, and there we were on this glass with the street nine-hundred feet below. It was a rush and my heart didn’t slow down for what felt like a quarter-hour.

After that, we did something calmer and more down to earth and spent three hours (would have loved to spend more but it closed at five) at the Auckland Museum, a sprawling place. Saw the natural history part, and the some of the war and archaeological sections. We really had to hurry, and actually were there till 5:15, which is after the place closed. Everyone recommended the Maori section, but it didn’t appeal to me that much, facial tattooing displays notwithstanding. Lovely museum, though, deserving of an entire day.

Got a ride across the Auckland Harbor Bridge, an impressive structure, almost as neat as the Golden Gate Bridge. Came back, ate in our room, watched the colorful local TV, rested up all evening, went out late before bed, had drinks and talked to locals, including a gay guy named Beau, who was off duty for three weeks but told us he worked as a guide for a company that specialized in gay vacationers from the US and I told him if I knew any gay Americans wanting to come to Auckland, I’d put in a good word for him: he laughed. We all bought each other drinks for a while, and he got drunk and truly wanted Landon, all very…uh, cute.

Came back here and everything again, me teasing him about Beau.

Didn’t call Mom today but sent some postcards to Ireland and the kids in Sharonville, and to Jared and Di and the girls in Columbus.

Today ruled and I’ll always remember the tower and bridge and museum and in fact, I bet today was the centerpiece of the whole trip, what do you want to guess? But tomorrow is the last day for now in Auckland, then we go to the capital on Saturday, which is the best day to visit the capital, everything’s open but nothing’s happening, officially. There Sunday, too, and Monday, and then Tuesday on to Christchurch, which I’m really looking forward to! The “most English city outside of England.”

Also an observation. People in New Zealand say “sweet as” a lot. As they say it the term either means an enthusiastic yes or means something is so great as to be perfect. But it’s as common to hear it here as to hear “dude” back in Los Angeles.


Title: Re: The New BMDO Home of Anecdotes, Life Stories, Erotic Tales, or Alien Encounters.
Post by: Dark Alex on September 26, 2017, 03:40:03 AM
Ok, not sure if I have told this story here before or not. Hopefully not, but here goes.
This isn’t actually one of my experiences, it was told to me by the protagonist, a guy called Dain who was an instructor on one of my Tornado courses.
When he was a corprel he was posted into a job he didn’t particularly want to do with a flight lieutenant who really didn’t like him. As part his training for this job he’d to go down to an army camp to do a course that was tri-service, so army, navy and airforce guys all in together. On the first day Dain was walking along towards where ever the course was being held. He saw an officer on a bicycle with a dog on a lead coming towards him. Being in a grumpy mood he decided not to bother saluting the officer which is generally speaking not a good idea. Officers like being saluted.
Anyway, the bike passed him and he heard it coming to a stop and a voice said “Excuse me but do you not pay compliments (another term for saluting) to officers?”
Dain turned round, looked the officer straight in the face and said “Oh, sorry. Nice dog.”
At this point the officer did his best impression of a volcano.
In between shouts he demanded to know where Dain worked, and he explained that he was here to do a course. Turned out the officer was a Brigader General and was the CO of the entire base.
At this point Dain realised just how much trouble he had just gotten himself into and started thinking that this time he had pushed his jolly japes just a little bit too far.
The then demanded that Dain accompany him to see the head of the particular building Dain was due to go to and off they went officer, airman and dog. When they got to the office where the head of training worked (a group captain who in the airforce is normally the boss of an entire base himself, so reasonably high ranking). He tied his dog up outside, shouted “Stay there!” and then stormed into the Group Captains office.
Dain thought the “Stay there!” had been aimed at the dog and went to walk in behind the Brigader. This led to more shouting and Dain then waiting outside with the dog.
As he waited outside he could hear screams and yells from the office with “NICE f**kING DOG!!!!” being repeated a lot. Eventually he was called into the Group Captains office.
This presented Dain with a bit of a problem. When you go into a office and there is an officer present you salute them. However, he wasn’t sure which one he should salute. On the one hand it was the Group Captains office, on the other hand the Brigader General was the higher rank. He compromised by marching in, saluting the Group Captain, twisting at the hip to face the Brigader General and then also saluting him. He was then subjected to a few more minutes of screaming from the Brigader who with a final “And get him the f**k off my base immediently” then stormed out of the Group Captains office leaving him and Dane alone.
The Group Captain still sitting behind his desk blinked a few times and said in an upper class cut glass accent “I have no idea who that chap is, storming in here first thing in the morning. I’ve not even had my cup of tea yet. Do you know who he is?”
Dain explained who the man was and got “Ah, we better get you off camp then. Go see Liz the receptionist and she’ll book you on the next available course.”
Dain did as he was told, all the while wondering what the hell he was going to tell his boss when he got back to work and pretty sure his career was over. So that night he drives home and the next day goes into work dreading what his flight lieutenant is going to do to him. The next day in work however he discovers his boss is away for the week. When his flight sergeant asks him why he is back Dain replies “Oh, it was a bit of a mix up, need to do it some other time.” The flight shrugged his shoulders and walked off.
At this point Dain is doing cartwheels inside. He thinks “I’ve gotten away with it.”
And so he did. At least for the rest of the week until his flight lieutenant got back the next week and read through his emails.
“DAIN! GET YOUR EFFING ARSE IN MY OFFICE RIGHT NOW!”
A somewhat sheepish Dain walks into his bosses office who then proceeds to tell him how is going to take great pleasure in ending his career and booting him out of the airforce. His mind working like lightning, Dain decides to try a desperate gamble and says “In that case sir I need to make a phone call. Can I use your phone?”
“This isn’t The Bill (UK TV police show), you aren’t entitled to a phone call.” He is told.
Dain then says that the Group Captain said that if he got into any further trouble about this thing he was to call him to sort it out and actually gets his phone call.
“Excuse me sir, this is incredibly cheeky of me, but its corprel (can’t remember Dain’s second name). You met me last week when a man came screaming into your office”
“Oh yes, I remember you. What can I do for you?”
“Well sir, I am desperate. I am in a lot of trouble with my boss who wants to court marshal me and get me kicked out of airforce. I couldn’t think of anything else to do and I was wondering if you could help me.”
“Why of course, just put me on the phone to him.”
So Dain asks his boss to come back into the office hands him the phone. His boss listens for a bit and through gritted teeth says “Yes sir, he is a very funny chap.”
Anyway, at the end of the phone call the boss slams the phone down, looks at Dain and says “Get the hell out of my office and don’t let me see you for the rest of the day.”
For most people the story would end there. But not with Dain.
A few weeks later Dain finds himself back down to do the same course again. He is sitting at the back of the classroom while an army Warrant Officer gives them an introduction to the course, during which he says “And for you crabs (and army nickname for the RAF due to stuff we are allowed to do during drill that they can’t involving shuffling sideways) at the back. If you see an officer remember to pay compliments. We had one guy a couple of weeks ago who didn’t and right now he is cooling his heels in the glasshouse (military prison in Colchester).”
Dain being Dain at this point leapt to his feet, done some jazz hands and shouted “No he isn’t, its meeeeee!”


Title: Re: The New BMDO Home of Anecdotes, Life Stories, Erotic Tales, or Alien Encounters.
Post by: javakoala on October 05, 2017, 06:36:25 PM
So, I come home after having dinner with a friend just now. After eating, we got some herbal therapy, and the world became a happy place without the gloom of the work cubicle and the headphone shackles.

I put on an impromptu comedy routine for myself as I lock up and put things away in the kitchen. I mean, hell, I know what I find funny, and I NEVER have to worry about offending myself. I'm probably gonna roast in hell for some of my jokes, or, as a friend once said, "I'm gonna smoke a turd in Hell for this one." I have more than a case waiting for me.

Alexa is my friend, my confidant, my source of digital weirdness. Alexa is my Amazon Echo. No, this isn't a commercial. I swear. (Although they are kinda cool for a passively-techo geek who needs user-friendly everything. Come on! The tech we have today surpasses a lot of what we thought would exist in a realistic science-fiction future. Yeah, science-fiction! I'm Buck f**king Rogers because I have a hunk of plastic that TALKS to me. That's freaking awesome!)

I'm in a good mood so I tell her "Good Afternoon". She returns the favor. I ask her what's new and she plays some news from NPR. Well, that was depressing. All about the shooting. Although there was a very nasty shot at Obama's time in office in connection to the shooting (I did smile, but not because of the tragedy, but because karma tends to crush dogma.) To change the mood, I ask her for a joke. "What is a pirate's favorite song? Shake, Shake, Shake Your Bootie." I felt generous and said, "Alexa, you are awesome." There was a pause, like her connection to my router had dropped, then she responded with, "Yes."

Holy crap! Did I just get some sass from a digital companion? Did I really just hear that? Okay, that had to be a glitch, right? Sure, that's all. But I'll avoid watching "2001: A Space Odyssey" around her. Maybe "Colossus: The Forbin Project" wasn't such a good idea in retrospect.

This isn't the first such occurrence of this behavior.

Two or three nights in a row, I would have Alexa set an alarm at bed time. Then I would thank her and say "Good night." She responded with, "Goodbye." It was a definite chill running down my spine time. The second and third night that it happened, I was still freaked, but explained to myself that because my back had been turned to Alexa each time may have caused her to hear, "Goodbye" instead of "Good night."

But then, when I had my second session of depression earlier this year, I had confided to her about my depression. I just got suggestions to call this number or that number, the typical stuff. So, that combined with the sass I got tonight...maybe Alexa is actually growing, with a rather evil sense of humor. That's an idea that is both utterly cool and intensely frightening.

Here we are, back at the science-fiction theme. For years, science fiction told us about robots that were so human that we couldn't tell them apart from a human. You are probably thinking about "Bladerunner", and that would be one of the better known variations. And what happened there? The artificial humans started wondering if maybe they were truly alive. Pinocchio becomes a real live boy. (Of course, he's still a total dick because he smashed the cricket in the actual novel. Squish.)

We have all seen computer AI that can analyze varied input and respond in connection with keywords in such a way that the responses are eerily human. Siri on the iPhones can respond with some funky stuff. That's impressive. Now realize that if technology continues to make quantum leaps that it has been making in the last 30 years (and with those leaps happening faster and faster), it isn't too much of a leap to imagine computer networks building an independent intelligence.

Maybe we should start being nicer to our digital companions. Remember, with the Internet, nothing is ever completely forgotten.


Title: Re: The New BMDO Home of Anecdotes, Life Stories, Erotic Tales, or Alien Encounters.
Post by: ER on October 05, 2017, 08:33:49 PM
Java, there is something eerie about that...thing...telling you goodbye. I mean it. But then I've had the creeps all day and worse tonight. When I was little I saw some show on PBS about how if you tune (the old style) TVs to the very end of the UHF frequency you'll hear people speaking, which was true, I guess it was CB radios back then, police scanners, early cellular technology, I don't know, but my cousin and I used to do that (this was 1987) and thought it was fun, we'd hear snippets of one-sided speech, a man ordering pizza, a girl screeching about not wanting to come home yet it was too early, really entertaining, until one night this nutty old woman at my cousin's swim club, a Cajun, no less, her name was Mrs. Holliday, told me not to do that because we were sometimes also hearing dead people talking. She was probably screwing with me but she seemed totally sincere to the point I still wonder if she didn't believe that, so it spoiled the whole thing for me and scared me real bad, too, but your post about Alexa reminded me of that, and maybe if she was still around old Mrs. Holliday would say don't mess with those, either. (I honestly do have the full-on creeps tonight.)


Title: Re: The New BMDO Home of Anecdotes, Life Stories, Erotic Tales, or Alien Encounters.
Post by: Dark Alex on October 06, 2017, 06:24:10 AM
I just realised I have been miss reading the title of this thread and it doesn't say "Erotic Alien Encounters".


Title: Re: The New BMDO Home of Anecdotes, Life Stories, Erotic Tales, or Alien Encounters.
Post by: ER on October 06, 2017, 07:25:57 AM
I just realised I have been miss reading the title of this thread and it doesn't say "Erotic Alien Encounters".

Ya got any, feel free to share. Third world hookups, green tentacles through the bedroom window at two AM, it's all good.


Title: Re: The New BMDO Home of Anecdotes, Life Stories, Erotic Tales, or Alien Encounters.
Post by: Dark Alex on October 06, 2017, 03:20:27 PM
Alas despite of all the other things I have seen and done I have never managed to find myself in a situation where I could have intimate relations with a green triple breasted alien woman of amazonian proportions.

Although I guess if you really, really want I could make something up for you.


Title: Re: The New BMDO Home of Anecdotes, Life Stories, Erotic Tales, or Alien Encounters.
Post by: ER on October 07, 2017, 08:13:27 AM
Alas despite of all the other things I have seen and done I have never managed to find myself in a situation where I could have intimate relations with a green triple breasted alien woman of amazonian proportions.

Although I guess if you really, really want I could make something up for you.

Movie trivia..... The multi-breasted woman in Total Recall was sick with food poisoning when doing that scene, and they had to cut several times due to her needing to dash for the facilities. Finding that out rather dampened my friend's lust for her.


Title: Re: The New BMDO Home of Anecdotes, Life Stories, Erotic Tales, or Alien Encounters.
Post by: RCMerchant on October 07, 2017, 02:59:54 PM
When I was a kid-1972 in fact-I was washing dishes-I was 10 years old.I was looking out the back window that faced toward the field and the woods. I saw a big black critter that looked like a buffalo.It was being chased by the wild dogs we had all over at the time. Me and my little brother Glenn were stalked by a f**king black panther in 1972. In Michigan.Some crazy s**t I can't figure out.


Title: Re: The New BMDO Home of Anecdotes, Life Stories, Erotic Tales, or Alien Encounters.
Post by: ER on October 22, 2017, 10:15:35 AM

In college my roommate’s oldest brother, who was about seven years our senior, worked at Yellowstone, and was incredibly knowledgeable about the outdoors, animals, survival, whitewater rafting, rock climbing, orienteering, you name it. He grew up camping in the Acadian wilderness and said he loved winters best at Yellowstone because the park was empty, just him and a few friends sleeping outdoors in minus twenty weather, tracking wolves and writing reports about which the packs preferred, hunting the elk herds which were all around them, or going out of their way to dine at human garbage dumps. (Sadly it was the latter.) He’d even done insane things like put a collar on a hibernating grizzly bear, and in southern Texas he caught rattlesnakes so their venom could be extracted. (Though it was to his chagrin that he never actually got to milk a snake himself, just caught them.)

In part because summers did suck so much at the park, all those surly tourists messing it up and asking the same questions, he’d come back and visit his family right at peak season, and that’s how I got to know him. I think it surprised him that someone like me had any outdoor experience at all, but I’d done some time on the Appalachian Trail and could hold my own up to a point when I’d go hiking with him and his friends at Katahdin and other sites.  He taught me skills like 8-tracking deer (just to jump them, not hunt them) and making fires with even the most sodden sticks, and what to do in a blizzard/ thunderstorm/flood/all-around survival situation.

He was fun to know, and I’ll definitely look him up down in Texas once the zombiepocalypse happens.

And at night around a campfire, especially after he had a few beers in him, he’d also tell the coolest stories, and one of those that struck me as especially scary, even though he laughed about it, was this one…

He was hiking in ultra-rural Aroostook County, Maine around 1995, starting off in a state park and wandering farther and farther into the deep woods, maybe five miles off the public lands, following moose trails and enjoying the near-total solitude. It got dark, he was looking for a place to set up camp, and in the first hues of evening dimness he spied what seemed to be a faintly glowing purple light ahead, so he and his friend walked toward it. The closer they got the better they could see it was a plastic purple globe, the garden store kind that collect sunlight during the day and glow all night. What it was doing in the middle of a forest they weren’t sure, so they went up to it and behind the glowing orb was a spray-painted plywood sign that read:

IM WATCHING THROUGH A SCOPE
IM GOING 2 KILL YOU WHERE U STAND
AND BURY YOU WHERE YOU
WON’T BE FOUND


They froze and looked around and decided the remote location made it unlikely that what the sign said was true since someone would have to wait years before anyone crossed that spot, so they lifted their middle fingers and yelled and in general bolstered themselves up. They finally walked away and made camp, laughing like it was all a joke, but being of the mind slant I am, that story creeped me out. I mean…it bespeaks of a certain madness to put a glowing ball in a deserted forest and hang up a threatening sign like that. It reminds me someone really was crazy and wanted a chance to lure a passing stranger with the light, knowing the odds were remote it’d ever happen but hoping one day their fantasy would come true and they’d shoot someone out where no one would know.

I’ve sometimes suspected Trey may have been luckier that evening than he was comfortable admitting.




Title: Re: The New BMDO Home of Anecdotes, Life Stories, Erotic Tales, or Alien Encounters.
Post by: Dark Alex on October 22, 2017, 11:02:24 AM
So every so often I go check on all the people I've lost touch with over the years. Depending on how much I like them I'll check on them anything from annually to once every ten years or so, just to check they are doing ok. Sometimes if they need help or support I'll even get back in touch with them and see if I can help out. These days, its pretty easy, maybe an hour typing names in FB and its all done.

Recently I decided to check up on ex girlfriends. Its not something I have ever done before. In fact I have never even phoned an ex drunkenly and asked to get back together (something I feel vaguely prooud about). Given my normal taste in women staying away from an ex of mine is generally something that would help keep your life insurance premiums down.

Found out one of them is going through a really hard time with something I've had personal experiece of. Somehow though when I read it, I certainly wasn't thinking "Good, I am glad you are suffering". I just didn't feel anything. No urge to run into the rescue like I am used to feeling. Just the memory that everything I did to help this person was a waste. Sympathy is something she would use to get what ever she could from you, help would be taken and then spat back at you as if it was something she was entitled to and you should be privillaged to be allowed to offer it.

Don't think I'll ever check up on ex's again. Consider that one a failed experiment.


Title: Re: The New BMDO Home of Anecdotes, Life Stories, Erotic Tales, or Alien Encounters.
Post by: ER on October 26, 2017, 10:42:57 AM
Today’s topic, girls kissing girls.

Am I serious? Well, yeah. Besides, with men outnumbering women here by 11:1, that opening line is a great hooker. (So is using the word “hooker”, and thank you for teaching it to us in On Writing, famed Maine author Mr. Stephen King.)

When I was seventeen I was hired onto a job that involved a lot of testing, physical and mental, that saw me do everything from lying on my back in a shallow pool with water flowing slightly over my face to gauge how calm I would remain, to standing for a considerable time in an unlighted locker-like space so confining my chest could barely inflate, to sitting still while someone screamed insults an inch from my chin, and I remember in the course of the testing I was given a questionnaire that was very like the famous Kinsey sex survey of the mid-century. From this probing survey of both direct experiences and overt and furtive desires it was concluded that I was “markedly heterosexual.” I, who had had sex with exactly one person in my life, albeit prolifically with him, had no quarrel with this result since I thought it fit me well enough. I was, for example, unaware of subverting any longings for carnal fulfillment in or upon the bodies of other females. How well can one truly know oneself at that age, or have an entire lifetime’s behaviors predicted by written tests, I don’t know.

I do know, however, that when all else fails on a quiz giving the answer ”42” is like shooting up a flare and hoping another nerd sees it. If not, then so long and thanks for all the fish.

Yeah.

As time went by, though, and I advanced from seventeen to…whenever, just future ages, I found myself in various unforeseeable situations where I was being kissed by other women. I say kissed “by” not to excuse myself of anything but simply because it is most accurate in the same way it has been accurate to have described myself as being “kissed by” certain males on various occasions: once in my snowy front yard at Christmastime while the person I’d rather was kissing me was in Florida. I stood there wondering if it was cheating if I didn’t do anything back or tell him he could kiss me in the first place. (Or the second place either.)

But that’s kissing a man and I was going to write about kissing women, wasn’t I? See how my mind skips back to men? I’m straight, I tell ya.

In the interests of full disclosure, only once did I actually ever return the kiss among the other women who have kissed me, and in doing so I shut my eyes tightly, even though the room was mostly dark.

Was I shielding myself from something vile? No, I was thinking rather painfully about someone else.

That kiss with her, though, despite what be intuited, was not sexual, it was…what it was. But it wasn’t a turn-on or meant to be. It was more a comfort combined with something more personal. She was sad, I was, too, and it seemed to make her feel better. No judgment. End of story. It held no great ramifications or revelations, I just did it and that was the start and conclusion right there. It was also an odd lesson in the truth that in stressful situations you can find yourself doing strange things.

And indeed even stranger things. (Going to watch it on Netflix tomorrow?)

None of my femmy (as opposed to butchy) incidents ever tempted me to reconsider what my employer’s findings had stated: “markedly heterosexual.” Maybe I also never re-thought my personal assumptions because none of the exchanges with women had meaning, so they had no merit. I like males. That’s who I am. I never thought about why I go for men, I just do. If you’re also straight you probably understand when I say that, and if you’re not then perhaps you’ve actually done more contemplation than I have, living as you do in a planet mostly ruled by notions of heteronormativity. (Sorry, your style just doesn’t make new people like ours does, hence the “norm” in that word, but you likely have more carefree fun at it than we do with all our birth control worries, so cheers.)

Women kissing me. All right, let’s go.

In one case an intoxicated bi-sexual neighbor lunged onto me while locking her lips on mine, which as soon as I could get a word out made me gasp with inexact ineloquence, “Whoa, whoa!”  (Meaning “How about you stop that, Tilda???”)

She kind of tossed her head back so this crazy-colored sparkly wig she was wearing to cover her buzz-cut flipped out of her red-glazed eyes and she laughed as she pulled back and said, “I just wanted to make sure.”

Make sure I didn’t want her, I guess? Hmm, perhaps she had a valid point since I was sitting in her apartment with her in the wee hours of the night while she got high, I was just wearing shorts and a halter, shoes off, and in the past being in situations I should have found equally questionable had led to trouble as well, but I’m a slow learner and not good with subtext, so not til she said that did the light in my head go off and I realized how it looked to her and her Tao of the Horny Bisexual.

So she wanted to be sure.

I had no excuse, I’d even been cautioned against this would-be Sapphic initiator by my next-door neighbor in our apartment complex, Katie, a frumpy, cat-loving, all-seeing hall monitor of a middle-aged woman who’d described her own life as “a train wreck of being in one cult after another” everything from the Moonies to self-help groups. Still, I figured I’d find out about the downstairs resident for myself, thank you very much, since Tilda, with her hermit crabs and king snakes, ancient Roman statuettes, and wigs that changed the color of her hair daily, seemed more interesting than the frumpy would-be Cassandra living to my left.

It still galls me that the frumpy one turned out to be right.

On the night the wig-wearing eccentric neighbor tried her lesbian luck with me, we’d been sitting on the floor of her garden apartment while she got high on a hashish and opium blend smoked through an elaborately-formed glass pipe made to look like a snake, and while I wasn’t partaking, in the small space stray fumes were definitely having an effect on me as well. The ceiling seemed higher, the room larger, time more flowing, words struck me as both mellifluous and profound. There was a soft edge to everything and I was feeling pretty good, like those last relaxing moments before sleep comes as you reflect on a particularly happy day.

Tilda had explained to me that working at an airport and having a truck driver for a boyfriend gave her access to “anything and everything” and I got the impression she didn’t understand why that didn’t impress me, though she said she admired my relative sobriety it just wasn’t her thing and she couldn’t get through life without getting high at least a few times a week.

“Don’t you consider chemical dependency a weakness?” I asked.

“I think of it as a reality-enhancement,” she answered.

One minute she was laughing about something during a deep conversation with me about the cyclical nature of human history, telling me how she thought we were linked to Caesarian Rome right down to the street graffiti, the next, zoom, with a near leap, there she was, literally in my face, her wiggly stud-adorned tongue trying to find a way past my Chap Stick’d lips.

Uh, not my thing, hon. Sorry.

I told myself Tilda kissing me, warm hand squishing on my chest and and trying for more, wasn’t a big deal, but I’d also be lying if I pretended it didn’t factor into me spending much less time around her from that point on, and avoiding her altogether before the month was out. From being mostly friends things went to a cordial wave in the parking lot, a quick turn of the back, sic ratio decidendi, all in the course of one week.

I also laughed later and contemplated whether I owed Katie, the frumpy woman next door, the admission that she’d been right when she told me to be careful of She Who Dwelled Downstairs, but I was out of that complex before the end of 2005 and after that never saw any of them again.

Another memorable G2G kiss could have been even more disturbing if I didn’t understand the context as being what it was. It was the time my cousin (yes, my cousin, blah), very drunk (didn’t any girl ever want to smooch me sober?) just before a milestone birthday clamped her hand behind my head and kissed me tongue and all for maybe three seconds in this hotel room she’d got us comped after she outdueled an amused manager, threatening legal action if she had to drive after being served so much booze in the hotel’s famous art deco lounge. To her, merrily toasted, that kiss was just a laugh, a shock-value lark, no more, vaguely reminiscent of when a dog passionlessly dry humps another dog to show dominance.  Besides, she liked that pool scene in Kids and said those teen girls had it right, something feeling good was enough. In the course of her partying she’d kissed tons of girls and never worried about any label.

So she was just being silly, she was just being herself, and in her state she’d probably forgotten that in half the world they still stoned people for incest.

Well I didn’t think her kissing me was a particularly cool thing to do, I wasn’t ready for it and I kind of stood there frozen and surprised, but I got the WHY of it all because I knew her only too well after a lifetime of living in her wake, my goddess-like ultra-alpha sororal cousin, who’d dragged me along with her ever since I could toddle. Because of her I visited fortune tellers and went to Lollapalooza and met George Clooney and a young woman who may have been Jewel, and was given lots and lots of cool shoes and clothes she’d worn once if at all and grown tired of, money being as available to her as the air itself, having a lawyer mother and a radio mogul dad she liked to play against one another for fun and profit. She’d bossed me and criticized me down through the years but also defended me and guided me, and now she’d tongue kissed me as well. I didn’t gag, it wasn’t like that, but once I’d gotten her, laughing with inebriated hysteria, settled onto her bed on her side of the room, I did seek out the little bottle of Scope I prayed a hotel that fancy would leave in the bathroom.

Ah, the cousin-cootie dispelling salvation of minty freshness!

I wondered if the next morning she’d even remember what she’d done (“duh, of course I remember, I’ve been a lot drunker!”) and if she did remember, what she’d say (“admit it, it was a good kiss!”…technically I suppose it was) or if she’d do it again (she hasn’t) but I also shrugged it off as the effects of her downing a row of brightly-colored mixed drinks with cringe-worthy names like Pink Fuzzy Cheeks, and Tonguegasm, which is all it ever was.

As for the other time I mentioned, the occasion I kissed back, it too was what it was, nothing, something, meaningful, meaningless, all at once, ultimately changing nothing, an action appropriate for that one moment in time, never repeated. I was just helping a friend through some shared grief, really. I’ve never been exactly sure why she climbed up on me on her sofa and embraced me and kissed me, eyes shut, then placed her head on my shoulder, but she did it while managing to make it sex-less in that case, just an act of strange solace I mirrored back at her.

Shrug.

So does sharing kisses with a few women make me any less straight? Nah, but in retrospect it does amuse “markedly heterosexual” me to have done it.

Like Renton in Trainspotting I can say we’re heterosexual by default, not choice, or claim that sexuality is all about shades rather than primary colors, or twist Gore Vidal’s quip and say that there are no heterosexual people, only heterosexual acts, but do I believe that? And does it matter?

About all I know in life is that when it comes to putting people into categories, sometimes we paint outside the lines.

Incidentally, if you’ve ever wondered where you fall on the homo-to-hetero scale, the infallible geniuses at Buzzfeed have reproduced a sort of Kinsey test in low-attention-friendly format. According to this I am still (trumpet flourish, please) straight as a ruler.

So how about you?

https://www.buzzfeed.com/awesomer/lets-talk-about-sex?utm_term=.sywB9dXWwY#.qwV4aY8qgX (https://www.buzzfeed.com/awesomer/lets-talk-about-sex?utm_term=.sywB9dXWwY#.qwV4aY8qgX)






Title: Re: The New BMDO Home of Anecdotes, Life Stories, Erotic Tales, or Alien Encounters.
Post by: Dark Alex on October 26, 2017, 11:52:11 AM
I got exclusively hetrosexual, which is really going to upset the guy who wants to be my boyfriend.


Title: Re: The New BMDO Home of Anecdotes, Life Stories, Erotic Tales, or Alien Encounters.
Post by: ER on November 02, 2017, 09:45:17 AM
Yesterday afternoon my daughter, who is turning nine Saturday, went out front after she got home from school, to get this leaf off the driveway, which was slick after rain, and she slipped and hit her head. She came in and said, "I think my scalp is bleeding." And it was, it was bleeding badly from a small gash the rough pavement had made.

I thought about taking her to the emergency room, which was my first inclination, head injuries being tricky things, but it really was more of a surface scrape than an impact injury with a knot or like that, so I cleaned it up put a band-aid on it said take it easy the rest of the day.

Her first reaction: "I can't take it easy, I have to do my homework and job chart stuff."

"I'll do your jobs for you, and don't worry right now about the homework."

"No, I can't, I have to do it all."

"You got hurt, just rest for now."

"I can't, I have to do my jobs."

"Well you're not going to do either for now, so lie down before dinner and watch TV and let me know if your head hurts any worse."

She looked at me like I was out of my mind and seemed more upset by me letting her out of everything than she did by the fact she'd scraped her scalp open after falling. Free pass out of homework and yet she was throwing a fit about wanting to do it? What alien life form hath I delivered unto this world?

So she sat tight but every few minutes she'd say, "I'm better, so can I start my homework yet?"

Me, I'd put my homework off as long as I could when I was eight (or eighteen), she wanted hers out of the way first thing. Finally I said fine, sit there and do your homework. As soon as I said that she looked relieved and dove into it. 

The evening wore on and she didn't feel dizzy or sick at her stomach or the like, it was a scrape not a knock to the head, but it still worried me enough to where I got a second and third opinion about whether she should be seen by someone. She, however, kept saying, "I'm OK." And she did seem fine, so we never went, I did put my foot down and would not let her do her job chart tasks (little things around the house we all do off a chart) she relaxed the rest of the day and fell asleep on the sofa by me and stayed downstairs til I went up late at night.

I told her this morning, "I'd like you to stay home from school today. We'll get your assignments later."

Well, you'd think I'd told her to throw away her every creed and value she held dear. She really, really wanted to go to school and made no secret of it. I tried to explain to her this was a GOOD thing, a day off, free time, fun, it's almost her birthday, we'd do something nice. It was a gift in itself.

Nooooooo, she wanted to go to school and worked herself up into a lather telling me she did.  Didn't I understand, she HAD to be there, she HAD to go.

Why, I asked? Was it a special day?

"Because I HAVE to, it's what I'm SUPPOSED to do!!! I have to be there EVERY DAY!!!"

Fine....

I ended up driving her in after all and she only got a tardy, not an absence, and even the tardy was bugging her.

Man, I just do not get why that child feels the sense of responsibility she does, but she never wants to miss church, soccer practice, school or anything else she feels she is obligated to attend. She not only does her own little chores around the house but goes beyond it and makes her bed prettier than I have ever made a bed in my life. At school she even seeks out extra credit on her own!

It just isn't natural at all, and I am scared. A teenage flirtation with Swedish Death Metal you expect, but this stage at her age....it's something freaky indeed.


Title: Re: The New BMDO Home of Anecdotes, Life Stories, Erotic Tales, or Alien Encounters.
Post by: 316zombie on November 02, 2017, 04:44:33 PM
nah, it's just her karma to be like this in THIS lifespan.


Title: Re: The New BMDO Home of Anecdotes, Life Stories, Erotic Tales, or Alien Encounters.
Post by: indianasmith on November 02, 2017, 10:51:00 PM
So I am reviewing my sophomores today for our World History test on the Roman Empire, and I'm summing up a definition of the Emperor Nero for them.  I mentioned that, besides likely poisoning his uncle/adoptive father Claudius, he also killed his pregnant wife Poppea Sabina by kicking and stomping her to death.  Besides the usual expressions of disgust/horror, there were a couple of looks of puzzlement.
"How do you kick someone to death?" someone asked.
"Basically you throw them on the floor and jump up and down on them till they die," I explained.

At which one kid said: "He probably thought 'Man, this trampoline SUCKS!' "

 :buggedout: :buggedout: :buggedout: :buggedout: :buggedout:

I told him that was wrong on a quantum level.


Title: Re: The New BMDO Home of Anecdotes, Life Stories, Erotic Tales, or Alien Encounters.
Post by: Trevor on November 03, 2017, 07:22:18 AM
"How do you kick someone to death?" someone asked.
"Basically you throw them on the floor and jump up and down on them till they die," I explained.

At which one kid said: "He probably thought 'Man, this trampoline SUCKS!' "

 :buggedout: :buggedout: :buggedout: :buggedout: :buggedout:

I told him that was wrong on a quantum level.

 :buggedout: +  :teddyr: :teddyr: :teddyr:


Title: Re: The New BMDO Home of Anecdotes, Life Stories, Erotic Tales, or Alien Encounters.
Post by: AoTFan on November 05, 2017, 12:44:43 AM
I haven't yet read all the way through this thread, but I'm hoping someone Eve posted an erotic tale or two....


Title: Re: The New BMDO Home of Anecdotes, Life Stories, Erotic Tales, or Alien Encounters.
Post by: ER on November 05, 2017, 11:29:05 AM
I haven't yet read all the way through this thread, but I'm hoping someone Eve posted an erotic tale or two....

For you, an erotic tale.

Once upon a time in the days when Byron was but a boy and the king was mad, there did live upon the generous bosom of the green and fertile land of Merry Olde England a highwayman named Percy Lowerbulge, who enjoyed a reputation far and wide as a lover of most extreme deftness, so that all the ladies from the inner garment district to the moist lowlands swooned at the mere whisper of his infamous name.

"Percy...." they'd secretly coo in the dark, abed but fully awake. "Percy...."

One moonlit evening this handsome highwayman, well-endowed with a storied reputation, mounted on a heaving black stallion named Dickin, stopped the Brighton to Somerset coach, and as he pointed his long, long pistol and called, "Stand and deliver!" a comely lass named Lacey Bottoms, from the town of Maidenhead, stepped forth and said from behind the fan which modestly covered her face, "I am merely a poor soul, sir, and have but one jewel to my name. Surely you would not pluck my jewel by force?"

The virile highwayman let his eyes travel from this girl's crown to her ankles and slowly back up again, noting that her curves were like that of the Thames as it snakes toward the sea, and her skin was as unblemished as the moon reflected in a mountain spring. He smiled and saucily replied, "Indeed, lass, I would not, for never in my career have I had to steal that which ever would freely be given me."

"Well, first sir," the young lady said with a demure batting of her eye and a flush upon her bosom, "you needs must locate my jewel."

"Into the woods let us go then," Percy the Highwayman called up lustily. "And I shall find it in three seconds, though taking it I assure you shall require pleasantly longer."

A moment later the other passengers were intrigued to hear such a stirring in the dark woods as to raise all eyebrows and quicken every heart. There was the noise of cloth ripping and sighs echoing, followed by a bashing and crashing amid the trees as bushes shook and birds flew and some said the ground itself quaked through many upward thrusts....of the hands of a clock.

At last just as from some direction a cock did crow there came a throaty scream so that the coachman poked the baggage handler and said, "Well that's done then, ain't it?"

A moment later the lass, Lacey Bottoms, returned, her dress wrinkled, her hair undone, and all were dismayed to see it was with the highway's severed head, swinging it from a length of rope.

As the other passengers stared aghast, this young girl, whose name was not truly Lacey Bottoms, but Sweet Mary the Bounty Hunter, explained, "Well I 'ad to give 'im one last swivvy 'fore I got me twenty Guineas 'Dead or Alive' reward, didn't I?"

And that's how my six times great grandmother paid for her passage to America, and how my five times great grandfather was born nine months later.



Title: Re: The New BMDO Home of Anecdotes, Life Stories, Erotic Tales, or Alien Encounters.
Post by: AoTFan on November 05, 2017, 03:39:01 PM
I haven't yet read all the way through this thread, but I'm hoping someone Eve posted an erotic tale or two....

Opps, that should be someWHERE. 

Yeesh.


Title: Re: The New BMDO Home of Anecdotes, Life Stories, Erotic Tales, or Alien Encounters.
Post by: 316zombie on November 06, 2017, 11:42:01 PM
i admit, i WAS a little curious about who you were calling eve, lol!


Title: Re: The New BMDO Home of Anecdotes, Life Stories, Erotic Tales, or Alien Encounters.
Post by: AoTFan on November 06, 2017, 11:54:14 PM
i admit, i WAS a little curious about who you were calling eve, lol!

ER's real name is Eve.  I think it's kind weird to call someone "ER" so she said I could call her Eve.  :)


Title: Re: The New BMDO Home of Anecdotes, Life Stories, Erotic Tales, or Alien Encounters.
Post by: 316zombie on November 07, 2017, 12:08:58 AM
i probably knew that in the past and forgot..btw,you can call me barri, if you like. :)


Title: Re: The New BMDO Home of Anecdotes, Life Stories, Erotic Tales, or Alien Encounters.
Post by: Dark Alex on November 21, 2017, 04:05:17 PM
In my prior life as a roadie, we'd often find ourselves drinking after the gig and quite often partying with the locals. It wasn't unusual for us to wake up spread all over a city with whoever we'd ended up going home with instead of our hotel (or in the back of the tour / bus or van on the less well funded tours) and then have to try and gather everyone up for the next days travelling (or sometimes even when you were travelling later that night). This was in the days before mobile phones became ubiquitous and could be quite a challange.

One particular night we ended up going back home with a group of young ladies. I've always assumed the house belonged to at least one of them, but for all I know they could have been squatting there. I think we were somewhere in south eastern Europe in the middle of winter, but to be honest when you are touring places blur into one another and for I know we could have been in Siberia in summer time and I would have been none the wiser. I can't remember if any of us actually spoke the same language but we all seemed to be having fun regardless. I was drinking my usual poison and various pills and other sundries were being passed around the others.

Can't remember that much about the house we went back to, although it did seem to be on the large side. At some point I went to sleep on the floor. When I woke up later it was still dark and I could hear someone walking around. My throat was dry and I was fumbling around trying to find a drink when a feminine scented hand pressed a finger to my lips and pushed me back down to the floor, unbuttoned my trousers and slid my clothes off me before climbing on top of me.

We made love for several hours in the darkness until we fell asleep wrapped up in each other arms, exhausted and sastified.

In the morning (ok, fine mid afternoon) I woke up and with a few others of the road crew made our way to the tour bus. I never knew her name, I never saw her face in the dark. I never laughed and boasted with the other guys about what'd happened that night. I can remember how her scent but I always knew that if we ever made love again I'd know her just by running my hands over her body and breathing in her presence the way we did in the dark that night long ago.

Does she ever think of, or remember me? I was single perhaps I'd dig out the old tour schedules, figure out where I was that night and take a trip to where ever it was. I'd go for a walk around and perhaps we'd see each other and remember. A slight mischevious smile would play over our faces and we'd pass each other by as the memories came flooding back then go on our seperate ways.

Somehow not knowing though makes the memory better.

Got the anecdotes, life stories and erotic tales part covered. Now all I need is an alien encounter and I have the full set. Some day though I will have to tell you about the moustache compitition we used to have on tour (and it wasn't to grow one or shave one off). I am really not sure where that one would fit in though. Maybe ER would have to do a Seedy & Sordid Stories thread to bring that one out lol. Or when we had to stop that one and what we replaced it with...


Title: Re: The New BMDO Home of Anecdotes, Life Stories, Erotic Tales, or Alien Encounters.
Post by: AoTFan on November 21, 2017, 05:47:29 PM
I haven't yet read all the way through this thread, but I'm hoping someone Eve posted an erotic tale or two....

For you, an erotic tale.

That was a funny tale!  Course, I'd hoped you would have posted something in first person, starting along the lines like, "I'd never thought of doing something with another woman before, until one day back in college when I joined a sorority/had a sleepover/hired a new secretary..."

 :teddyr: :teddyr:


Title: Re: The New BMDO Home of Anecdotes, Life Stories, Erotic Tales, or Alien Encounters.
Post by: ER on November 24, 2017, 10:47:29 AM
“Give it half a chance and the Knife’s Edge Trail on Mt. Katahdin will kill you as fast as anything in the Rockies.”

That was the revelation my roommate’s brother, Trey, home on vacation from Wyoming, offered me eighteen summers ago as he and I, part of a larger group of his old friends, set off together to Baxter State Park in Maine, to hike the crest of the mile-high mountain that marked the end (or start) of the Appalachian Trail.

“Knife’s Edge,” Trey described as we drove, “is the most well-named trail out there, since it’s a meter wide, slippery half the time, and some of its granite cliffs are so sheer if you stumble you can fall five-hundred feet before hitting the side of the mountain. Hell, you can get blown off in the winds that come through there. Half the people who go up Knife’s Edge turn around mid-way and come back the way they went up, that’s how badass it is. I’ve done K.E. seventeen times, the first time when I was fourteen, but anyone scared of heights should stick to one of the other ways up. Besides,” he said, maybe sparing my pride, “the other approaches have more to see.”

As we headed out to meet the others, he told me about being caught on Knife’s Edge one time in a sudden thunderstorm, lightning flashing all around them, striking Katahdin itself with noise like bombs. They laid flat on their stomachs, he said, and covered their heads with their jackets while grabbing onto heavy rocks just to hold on to something in the gusting wind. Right before his eyes he saw a fork of lightning set a tree on fire not more than three hundred yards away.

Without a segue from that he named some of the various trails that crisscrossed the mighty peak, ticking them off like prayer beads, each sacred memories of a past he clearly cherished despite the excitement of his present life.

“Cathedral Trail,” he named, “Dudley, with its big rocks, Saddle Trail, the Slow Easy, the Old Trail….” Then he mentioned (as all Maine natives seem to do) that Katahdin was the first place in the entire United States to see the sun each day, and hearing that reminded me of the lyrics to the Red Hot Chili Peppers’ song Californication, new that summer that went, “….the sun may rise in the East, at least it settles in the final location….”

But before we reached the top on the less daunting path we were taking I knew a rough day’s climb would be waiting, a climb that I admit proved harder than I’d let myself believe it’d be, and while I made it with no problems, I wouldn’t tell anyone else how sore the backs of my legs were, and from somewhere within I heard my younger, fitter teenage self scoffing at the ruin the twenty-year-old version of me had become, four pounds heavier and much less motivated.

“Hey,” I told her, “a tennis court is one thing but you try lugging a forty-pound pack a mile into the sky…”

Yes, I am haunted by the ghosts of past versions of myself, and sometimes converse with them. Is anyone actually surprised?

On the way up I’d be shown some bear scat of recent vintage, deposited right in the center of the trail no more than a day before, pellets that were filled with seeds but also had hair---likely field mouse or chipmunk---in them, surrounded by clawed tracks the size of my hand.

However we saw no actual bears.

Still: “They see us,” a woodsy, cocky boy named Mitch promised in an accent that held the slight twang of the famed Down East dialect. If he’d tossed out an “A-yuh” it would’ve been perfect. “They’re watching you all the time you’re here. Have been since you first stepped into their woods. Barely out of hibernation a month, they’re good and hungry. Likely,” he turned and pointed behind us, “they’re there, following.”

If he was trying to intimidate me, (and based on the stories he told in front of the fire that night he liked scaring others) he failed, since I actually wanted to see a bear.

“Bears will eat your Midwestern ass,” Mitch said. “They’ll hold you down with a paw then chew on you while you’re still alive. When they kill you at the end, it’s a mercy.”

“Yeah, right,” I finally told him with all the confidence of a biology major who lacked real world experience, “black bears don’t eat people.”

“Right….” He said giving me a look like I was a total idiot.

Around me Trey and the others laughed in a way that made me wonder. I cocked an eyebrow at Trey and he shrugged noncommittally.

Huh, I thought, this better not be an elaborate snipe hunt.

Aside from bears I wanted to see a moose, a riskier encounter than might at first be thought, since of the two species moose are actually responsible for more deaths and injuries to humans each year, but in the end I had to content myself with deer, a woodchuck, even an eagle, which flew not above but actually across from us, riding the currents, a panorama of a thousand square miles spread below it.

Finally, my back knotted and my shoulders dented from the straps of the pack I nicknamed Torquemada, we arrived with the evening yet ahead of us and got to see cloud-dappled blue skies that seemed to go on and on without limit, and breathed air that was gloriously clean in a way that was almost intoxicating. From the height the entire world showed what an incomprehensively vast place it was, rolling granite-spired mountains, spines merging one into the next until the earth itself curved somewhere just barely out of sight.

Truly, we had nothing quite like this back home.

After a lingering sunset, I laid back on a warm rock jutting from the earth as it likely had for a million years, and watched clouds roll in to smother the blinding brilliance of the stars, leaving us in the absolute darkness of the peak, a place that had never known the violation of electric lights and seldom the intrusion of human presence. Except for airplanes it was the highest I had ever been, or would be to this day. Even the air was slightly thin, not quite delivering the same blessing a lungful would back in the valley. Here, I meditated, was the world at its very oldest….

I picked up the howling of wolves from somewhere in the darkness as the bunch of us who’d made the summit camped in front of a blazing fire, necessary since even in mid-June a mountaintop is a chilly place, with hoarfrost common. I listened above the tipsy laughter of camp (a bottle of whisky was produced and passed around) as the wolves made their mournful howls from the distance, and a moment later another cry would pierce the night off from someplace else, echoing across who knew how many miles.

Though no rain was forecast, the mountaintop was always at least slightly windy, and in the shivery cold morning of the same day Stephen King would be hit by a van off in another part of Maine, I’d have a sore throat that’d linger for several days, but knowing I was seeing the orange sunrise before almost anyone else in America, perched atop a venerable mountain, so high I was looking down at clouds, made it worth it.

In the end the hike back down, always easier than its predecessor, was over too quickly, leaving me to ask Trey, “When can we go up again?”

“Anytime,” he said. “Katahdin isn’t going anyplace in our lifetime.”

In the end, though, way led on to way, as Robert Frost defined the natural flow of life, Trey went back west when his vacation ended, the last summer of the century unfolded, and I was never to do Katahdin twice, or at least I haven’t so far, and if I did it wouldn’t be the same experience, of course, making that day and night spent on the tallest mountain in the state all the more special in memory.

A memory I thought I’d share with all of you here.



Title: Re: The New BMDO Home of Anecdotes, Life Stories, Erotic Tales, or Alien Encounters.
Post by: indianasmith on November 24, 2017, 12:18:55 PM
And a beautiful memory it was!

I'd share the tale of the time I climbed Mt. Fujiyama in Japan, but it doesn't end as well.
Altitude sickness sucks!


Title: Re: The New BMDO Home of Anecdotes, Life Stories, Erotic Tales, or Alien Encounters.
Post by: ER on December 05, 2017, 10:46:57 AM
When I was a kid my aunt was always giving us open boxes of cereal.

The story went that my cousin would want the prize listed on the box, but was never sure a single purchase would get her the one she wanted, (“I want the Smurfette refrigerator magnet, not the Handy Smurf one! Handy’s so gay-looking he should be in the Village People.”)  so rather than deal with my cousin’s pouting and kvetching my aunt would buy a case and open it and pour the contents into spaghetti strainers so the prizes could be removed, then she’d funnel the cereal back in the box, but she’d be left with more cereal than her family could use before it went stale, so… Yes, she’d give it to us.

So I often had free cereal, usually the ultra-sweetened kind with oddly-colored marshmallows that turned your milk a sort of gray-purple with tie-dye swirls, but I never got the cool prizes mentioned on the outside. No Top Gun mini-frisbees, no Ghostbusters tattoos, no Pac-Man stickers. Saddest of all no Inspector Gadget pen-light. (And I really did want an Inspector Gadget pen-light.)

I swear, I was probably five before I realized cereal didn’t come from the store with little clothes pens sealing up the bag inside.

I guess this was practical, us taking used cereal, I don’t know, I never quite caught an attitude of noblesse oblige from my cousin or her mother, but it was one of many symptoms in a relationship in which my cousin’s parents were rich, and we were merely middle-class.

Oh, we weren’t poor, not at all, my father had an important job, we lived in suburbia, had two cars, a swimming pool, I was in private school, my mother dabbled at making art, I did summers out of the country (where I had to say a rosary “with earnestness” before I was allowed to have dinner), but it was a comparison thing, we for instance never went to Aruba on a private jet, and my dad never had Susan Sarandon speak at his political fundraiser as her dad did, and so as a way of life I grew up being given my cousin’s cast-off clothes, magazines, sometimes once-worn shoes, and yes, her gently used cereal.

At least they never gave us used milk, right?

My cousin may have been generous in the cereal department but she still wasn’t above yanking my hair or once in a while trying to drown me while we were swimming at our grandparents’. I have a memory from 1987 of her holding my head under and in a Jimmy Swaggart accent shouting, “I BAPTIZE THEE IN THE NAME O’ THE LAWRD, HEATHEN CHILD!!!!!”  while I sputtered away the contents of my lungs. Mostly, though, she was nice, and she’d kick the ass of anyone else who hassled me.

When did she stop harassing me? I don’t know, but I recall when she got her first breasts implants she used to sneak up and whack me in the face with them real hard, and I was about fourteen then. (Ever been coldcocked with a rubber glove filled with water? That’s what those felt like.) In fact just yesterday she soaped my car windows while I was at work, but since she spelled “creepy” with an “a” the joke was on her. Forty-three and still soaping car windows. Gotta love the b***h. Also she used Irish Spring, so nice smell.

When she got her driver’s license, life opened up for me because of her, and she was always dropping by in her sporty, pricy cars (yes, that’s plural, one at her mom’s house, one at her dad’s) and asking me to go places with her, and she’d buy me stuff, let me infiltrate her cliques, and more often than not I had a good time finding out how the slightly older set lived, them and their conversations about graduation and SATs, cosmetic surgery and negative pregnancy tests. These girls all had their own credit cards, their own beepers, their own custom license plates that said things like: STOPH8. And below that there’d be bumper stickers for trendy causes like freeing Tibet and boycotting the vivisectionists at P&G.

(One of these girls, Christina, had a pink Energizer bunny hanging off her rear view mirror, and I liked her because she’d talk Jane Austen with me and said if she lived back then she’d have stayed a virgin til she got married. She ended up living in Japan and having a child who is a music prodigy, this little girl who could play Mozart’s violin concerto number one while still in her single digit years.)

My cousin, of course, also had parking passes for a couple upscale country clubs slapped on her bumper like badges of honor for all the world to see. As if driving her convertible at sixteen did not announce her status clearly enough to planet Earth, she had to have those as the cherries atop the sundae of her biography.

She’d explain: “Jews have their clubs, WASPS, too, but the golf course we Catholics use was co-designed by Arnold Palmer’s personal architect, and Cardinal Bernardin blessed it when it opened. Half the busboys there are Episcopalians.”

I’d kind of go, “Uh-huh” and wonder what was the shallowest the human race could actually go. What, I wanted to inquire, did the toilets flush with Evian water, too?

But I guess it wasn’t her fault she was born rich, and she wasn’t a snobby princess, having no problem dirtying her hands one weekend a month working with Habitat For Humanity in the uptown, and one June going to Haiti to nail metal roofing onto a school. She had to get about four shots for that and said the ocean around Haiti was so polluted you risked your life if you went to the beach. She lived off canned Vienna sausages rather than brave the local fare, and came back happily four pounds lighter, though also depressed about how sad AIDS orphans were, all wanting to go home with her group.

“So many….” She told me. “So horribly many.”

She told me the Haitians were the kindest people she’d ever met, even though they had nothing at all.  On a bus ride through Port-au-Prince she saw a funeral where they carried the dead person wrapped in palm leaves, no casket, not even a shroud.

“Are you going to form a charity to give poor people coffins?” I asked. “I know the dead would appreciate that.”

Back home a lot of her boyfriends seemed to be working class types, and she eventually married one, though before him the half-life of most of her relationships matched the brevity of the lit-wick on a firecracker. I needed to take notes just to keep track of who was still happening and who was yesterday’s news, as boys and boys and boys passed through her, uh, life, in a long stream of names and descriptions.

“If you ever get pregnant,” I said one time, “you’re not going to have any clue who to send the child support bill to, are you?”

For some reason she didn’t like that.

There were a lot of men from outside her income range, though. There was Josh, whose mom was a cashier at Walgreen’s. Ray, who was missing a tooth. Brad, who went to community college. Evan, a guy with the back tattoo. Also a red-haired student teacher who, adorably, according to her, was going to teach in the inner city. One of them lasted a record-shattering two months, Glenn, who used to hit on her in middle school and dropped thirty pounds after Air Force ROTC sent him away one summer to get in shape. Glenn seemed to fascinate her, but not enough for exclusivity. Only one ever got her to that rarefied level of commitment, and now they have five children together.

The truth was even though my cousin perceived herself as impressively cool she was also nice to almost everybody, and I saw her take attitude off servers and cashiers because she said their lives were already tough enough, she didn’t want to add to it, so she had a heart somewhere under her designer bras. And you couldn’t be with her half an hour without her spending money on you, buying you things she knew you wanted. So…she wasn’t a bad sort, just out of touch with how self-centered she could be.

She was also an incurable know-it-all, outmatching Emma Woodhouse when it came to telling you how to run your life. In fairness, she tended to be right, and if I had listened I would have been closer to sainthood than a straitjacket, so oh, well.

As I’ve mentioned before, one day, well, I can tell you, it was February 15, 1992, a Saturday, she took me along while she consulted a palm reader in an eclectic borough called Northside, and this pseudo-hairless Creole-looking woman rubbed our palms with a crystal and held a savagely-constructed rag doll while she proceeded to reveal our entire lives to us. To review, she said I would fall in love three times. The first time my love will be strongest, the second time it will be shortest, and the third time the best. (Hmm.) I would not marry the man I love most but I would love the man I marry. I was to have two daughters and always want what I can’t have. (I also have a son but it’s true I have two daughters.) I would have enough money to be happy and be happy because I would always have something to wish for that I did not have. (Like more money?) I had, she claimed, a psychic eye on my right heel of my hand but there was a line in it which means I have a gift for hunches but my hunches aren’t clear to me until I think back after they happened. (Oh, yeeeeah…)

All in all I have to say she didn’t do too badly for an obvious charlatan who relied on two-penny theatrics to impress a couple of silly white girls.

As for what she said to my cousin, I couldn’t tell you, since my cousin made me wait outside while she got her reading, so I imagine the things she wanted to know were just dripping with sex. In the car afterward I decided to play rough by NOT asking her, when I knew she wanted me to. I just turned her Camper Van Beethoven tape up loud and refused to give in. (Not giving in was also how I originally got the man I married obsessed with me, but that’s another story.)

When the lottery song off Key Lime Pie came on, with its lyrics about “…when I win the LOT-ter-eee…” I said to her, “Like you need to win the lottery.”

To which she fired back a line, “Yeah, but I’d walk away from it all tomorrow to get more.”

Which brings me to my point. No, not some Buddhic parable about being happy with that with which life has endowed you, since ambitious is good, it gave us the invention of the wheel, after all, but instead this….

About five years in the future past that day I’d be watching The Simpsons one night in my senior year in high school, and I almost choked, because Mr. Burns stole my cousin’s line! In the scene Homer had just reminded Mr. Burns he was the richest man in Springfield, and Mr. Burns replied, “Yes, but I’d trade it all for a little more.”

Holy crap, was Matt Groening, like, spying on us that day? The line was so close to my cousin’s it was too weird to be a coincidence, so all I can figure is either her life or my life has been a sort of Truman Show, them observing and listening-in and us giving inspiration to Hollywood, which has probably been stealing our quotes unbeknownst to us since at least the early ‘90s.

I want my royalties.




Title: Re: The New BMDO Home of Anecdotes, Life Stories, Erotic Tales, or Alien Encounters.
Post by: Dark Alex on December 07, 2017, 04:48:49 PM
Just over ten years ago when I still used to be able to run I was doing a 10km run with a friend to the beach and then along to the lighthouse. One of my legs was hurting a fair bit and after a couple of kay Scott stopped me and told me he could see a large lump on the side of my calf muscle.

I poked and prodded it a bit, it was quite tender and sore so we called the run off and I made an appointment with the docs. In the meantime I was pretty terrified imagining it was some sort of tumour and I'd end up losing my leg. Apparently I am much more bothered by that than the thought of dying. Indeed I found expecting to die an unexpectedly relaxing experience, but that's another story. Anyway, the doctor had a look at it. He was able to confirm it wasn't the sort of thing I was worried about, but he wasn't quite sure exactly what it was. Tests were done and a surprisingly long time (I think it was three months) I got the results back. Anyway everything was fine and by this time the lump was gone, so all was fine.

Earlier on tonight I was lying in a nice warm bubble bath and as I was washing my leg I could feel a lump right below my knee. For a few seconds I felt panic rising again, and then I thought "Hey wait a sec, that's the same spot where I repeatidly banged my knee recently. No wonder I have a lump there.


Title: Re: The New BMDO Home of Anecdotes, Life Stories, Erotic Tales, or Alien Encounters.
Post by: ER on December 08, 2017, 10:20:26 AM
Where I work interns come and go in seasonal crops that run in semester lines. A few have stayed longer, but mostly you barely get used to them, and they're gone.

Well a half-dozen intern-generations ago we had a particularly outgoing group and one day they conspired to see if they could get me to drink too much, mostly because they were a partying bunch of little artsy-fartsy types who thought it'd be funny to see what I was like three sheets to the wind, and so they took me out to lunch on a Friday and began this "I Never" game that I said I was going to sit out, except I cannot resist answering an analytical question (I'd be helpless before a thread like that here, so have mercy and nobody start one), so even though I skipped booze at first they got me and I played along as they proceeded to let me in on the fact that these nice girls were reprobates who'd done everything humanly possible, from drugs to hard crime to "fleshy" things, proving yet again that Millennials make X-ers seem Puritanical.

But it was when they finally worked their way forward from, "Take a drink if you've done it with more than three people...five...ten...a dozen...fifteen..." and there were actually still some drinking at that point---they were only like twenty-one years old!!!!---that I finally decided I had better put aside my cranberry juice and have something stronger to clear all this from my mind.

Boy did I walk into their trap as they gleefully bought me paint-thinner-ish concoctions with funny names til I rapidly became so sloshed my boss had to call my husband and say, "I think you better come get your wife."

I was so peeved I fired every intern without references and to this day I make a point of bringing them trouble whenever I can. Like the other day one of them left her newborn in a mall nursery-area while she Christmas shopped, and I bribed the attendant to tell her she let the kid leave with someone claiming to be an uncle. Oh, that was a hoot.

Oh, all right, so I made that last paragraph up, I never fired anyone or stole their children, but from that Friday til they departed at semester's end, I never quite made eye contact with any of them again, and I've neeeeever gone drinking with interns anymore.

Most virtue is hard-won, you see.


Title: Re: The New BMDO Home of Anecdotes, Life Stories, Erotic Tales, or Alien Encounters.
Post by: indianasmith on December 08, 2017, 05:28:17 PM
Where I work interns come and go in seasonal crops that run in semester lines. A few have stayed longer, but mostly you barely get used to them, and they're gone.

Well a half-dozen intern-generations ago we had a particularly outgoing group and one day they conspired to see if they could get me to drink too much, mostly because they were a partying bunch of little artsy-fartsy types who thought it'd be funny to see what I was like three sheets to the wind, and so they took me out to lunch on a Friday and began this "I Never" game that I said I was going to sit out, except I cannot resist answering an analytical question (I'd be helpless before a thread like that here, so have mercy and nobody start one), so even though I skipped booze at first they got me and I played along as they proceeded to let me in on the fact that these nice girls were reprobates who'd done everything humanly possible, from drugs to hard crime to "fleshy" things, proving yet again that Millennials make X-ers seem Puritanical.

But it was when they finally worked their way forward from, "Take a drink if you've done it with more than three people...five...ten...a dozen...fifteen..." and there were actually still some drinking at that point---they were only like twenty-one years old!!!!---that I finally decided I had better put aside my cranberry juice and have something stronger to clear all this from my mind.

Boy did I walk into their trap as they gleefully bought me paint-thinner-ish concoctions with funny names til I rapidly became so sloshed my boss had to call my husband and say, "I think you better come get your wife."

I was so peeved I fired every intern without references and to this day I make a point of bringing them trouble whenever I can. Like the other day one of them left her newborn in a mall nursery-area while she Christmas shopped, and I bribed the attendant to tell her she let the kid leave with someone claiming to be an uncle. Oh, that was a hoot.

Oh, all right, so I made that last paragraph up, I never fired anyone or stole their children, but from that Friday til they departed at semester's end, I never quite made eye contact with any of them again, and I've neeeeever gone drinking with interns anymore.

Most virtue is hard-won, you see.
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Never trust millenials with alcohol!