Category: Adult

Posted on

I was trying to write something about stuff the pisses me off.

You’d think it would be easy. That’s the problem it’s too easy and there’s simply too damn much that pisses me off.

How can I possibly pick and choose?

One of the things that keeps popping up again and again is this Trans Crap.

I’m over it!

I am not and do not want to be associated with any of these events, or people.

Who you sleep with is nobody’s fucking business. I think most, if not all, of us in the LGB community are just as sick as the straight community is, of having TRANS Shit shoved down our throats 24/7.

To be clear, a lot of the LGB folks want a divorce from the T and rest of the alphabet soup folks.

The “T” and whatever the hell other “letter people” don’t represent the mainstream of the LGB folks and have completely hijacked whatever normalcy in society we’d managed to win.

These dumb fuckers have set us all back to the ‘80-90’s where normal folks think LGB folks are coming to corrupt their children. We’re not! But the “T” and alphabet folks are dragging the rest of us into their psychosis.

To be clear you don’t wake up one sunny morning and decide you’re not the gender you were born. You don’t come to the conclusion that you need to cut body parts off, over an overpriced Starbucks coffee and scone. Or for that matter, Legos and Barbies.

Even the real Transgender folks are being dragged along by a bunch of deranged jackasses, for whom “Non-binary” or “Trans” is trendy.

Here’s a newsflash dumbasses. Non-binary isn’t anything new. Human beings have always lived and acted in a sexual continuum. Very few people are completely straight or completely gay. Creating a term, then publicizing that term is nothing more than the HRC, and other money grabbing organizations way of remaining relevant.

If Non-binary is what you need to give yourself permission to sleep with whoever, or experiment with your sexuality then fine.

Just remember it’s not a fucking new thing, we’ve all gotten drunk, been horny, and woke up naked with a hangover, and someone we didn’t expect snoring beside us.

A lot of the more mature folks in our society, (not by age, but by attitude,) simply got up, and owned that things might have gotten a little out of hand. Most of us put a pin in the acts and / or gender of the person we’d done those acts with, and the associated ramifications until the hangover was gone.

I don’t give a runny shit about the “T” alphabet morons anymore. I used to care because I knew folks who were part of the real, (super small,) T community that actually did believe with all their hearts and proved out via psychological counseling that they were in the wrong skin.

Those people would forgive me for being done with all this madness. I’m willing to bet that they’re over it too.

I always wanted to live someplace where sex and sexuality was tacitly acknowledged. Yeah, we all fuck, yeah we all like it, yeah we have preferred partners, end of discussion. NEXT! We almost got there, maybe next time…

Posted on

The best laid plans…

The tail spin I’ve been in for the past few months is starting to be… less spinney. I’m not out of the spin yet, not by a long shot, but I’m getting better.

I had a plan for our retirement. A plan for what I wanted to do. I pictured us having a small home, with a lawn. I pictured actually having to own a lawn mower for the first time in my life. I’d even been shopping for mowers I might want. I pictured puttering around in a garden, and the two of us enjoying warm days with friends. Nice barbecues, dog walks and quiet times. Most of all I pictured having a mailbox. A “real” address and the joy of not having to worry about how something was being sent to me, because there was only one address to worry about. 

Yellow houseThese are small things. When you haven’t had them for most of your adult life they attain outsized importance.

I saw us enjoying hobbies and interests we’d not had the time to pursue because our jobs were always in the way. We always wanted to travel, we envied those of our friends who made traveling a priority and found the money to afford to do it. We always thought we’d have time. “Once we retire,” we’d say to each other.

I know this is an idealized view, and the reality of our retirement wouldn’t have been quite so… idyllic? Bucolic? But I thought that I’d be able to hammer some part of it out for us, even if it was only for a few years. 

Now, all that is changed. That’s what put me into the tailspin in the first place, aside from the shock, then learning that my other half had made no provisions for his demise.

You’d think I’d be mad, but I gotta say, “Good one babe, ya left me holding the bag!” 

I find myself wondering what now? What next?

I’m still here, the dog is still here, there’s still a small home with a patch of grass out there somewhere. There’s still barbecue, beer, warm days, mild winters, dog walks, and laughs. It’ll just be me and the dog doing all those things by ourselves. The dog is generally good company so that’s a plus. 

One distant acquaintance told me I’d meet someone else. She was attempting to tell me there was a future. She has no sense of boundaries, or decorum, and didn’t know that I’d long ago decided that I wasn’t going to “get hitched” again. I might not even date. I might simply decide that scratching a certain itch is best done in a way that ends with me saying, “Your money is on the counter, now please leave.” There is an interest on my part to “ordering from a catalog,” so to speak. I suspect that is cheaper than dinner & drinks, and I don’t have to be deafened by bar music.

I’ve decided that moving is best for me in the long run. Where I live now is a beautiful place, I have a view that I enjoy very much. But time is catching up with me, I don’t do as well in the winters as I used to. I’ve concluded it’s time for me to take the hint. I think I should go in search of the patch of grass and a mailbox that I’d fantasized about so often.

As I’ve looked at other places to live and the houses available, I’ve discovered that I like either brand new houses or I like really old houses. 1944 and before generally. I suppose it’s because those houses seem to have a lot of character. I know that is sometimes another way of saying they’re a money pit but some of the pictures of these older homes are very nice. The newer houses seem to have a lot of conveniences. 

I’ll have to adjust my visualization down to one chair on the porch but I’m working on that.

The mornings here are getting warmer, I’ve been taking my coffee and iPad out on the back deck to enjoy the quiet of the morning and scan the daily follies of the “Adults” in Washington. The dog likes it because he can watch the world and keep an eye on me at the same time.

I guess the lesson learned is plans and dreams change. 

Posted on

Something that made me smile…

In preparation for possibly selling the house, I’ve been cleaning closets.

The other half, God rest his soul was a heck of a packrat and had a habit of saving all kinds of paperwork in boxes, backpacks, shopping bags, and disused briefcases. Each one of which I must now open and determine from which epoc the paperwork within belongs.

That’s enough fun and I have found a lot of very strange things. I’ve also happened upon a treasure trove of CDs all of them classical music and none of them digitized. I’m at a complete loss as to why this would be. The resources to digitize and store all of his music on his computer, ipad, iphone or whatever were available. For some reason it just never got done and to the best of my knowledge I was never asked to do it or help. 

It’s one of those questions I’ll have to ask him when I see him next. I do hope that I can call him to the gates of heaven to chat for a moment or two before I’m put on the express elevator to hell. I doubt they’ll allow phonecalls between the two places and the long distance charges would be outrageous even if such calls were allowed.

Another part of cleaning out the closets has been dealing with the porn collection. There are quite a few videos we accumulated over the years. After the fire, we replaced a lot of what we originally owned on VHS tapes with DVDs or BluRays. As technology advanced and porn houses started offering their movies digitally I allocated a chunk of space on our server to store movies. I’ve also transferred many movies to the server, so that they are available on demand on virtually any device with a screen in the house.

As I was sorting movies from the shelf in the closet, I noticed a number of titles were not on the server and were not available for download from the production houses. So while going through the heartwrenching task of sorting or trashing things from boxes, bags, etc. I also began moving videos to the server. Once the DVD is on the server, I’ve been boxing them for storage and transport. 

This process has gone quite well. After moving the videos to the server, I decided to do a little quality check and so I told a player application to play the videos. I wasn’t watching them actively, I was spot checking as I walked something to the trash or checked on the dog.

The Dog will only allow me about an hour before he brings a ball in and drops it loudly next to my foot.

Anyhow, between laundry, sorting paperwork and the dog demanding that I play, I completely forgot about the videos playing on the TV in the bedroom. The volume was low and I was distracted. I’d returned to the front bedroom closet concentrating on the mountain of paperwork and odd bits & pieces of stuff collected over the past 13  years or so. 

I would ocassionally hear a voice, but couldn’t make it out, and thought that it was coming from outside the house. (The weather is nice so it’s routine for the crazy woman and her crazy man to be screaming at each other, one in the house and the other in the yard. Everytime they start up I first imagine an episode of COPS and then tune them out.)

Several hours pass as I’m digging through paperwork, playing with the dog, and tossing stuff into the recycle bin. During all this time I’ve been hearing voices and simply assumed it was the neighbors then cursed their classless nature under my breath…

Until one of the performers in a movie had a particularly loud orgasmic release.

Then I remembered the videos were playing in the other bedroom and found myself taking back all the unkind things I’d been thinking and muttering about the crazy neighbor and her mate.

So, Note to self, turn the volume up so I can hear the video playing the the other room, or turn the volume down and be happily surprised when I walk into the bedroom and see the porn is still running.

And now I’m off to throw the ball for the dog once again. I can’t deny him, but do think he’s mastered distracting me from the tasks that I need to accomplish.