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CONFESSIONS OF A TRANSITION MAN

November 22, 2017 Leave a comment

I didn’t intend to be a transition man.  In fact, I didn’t even realize I am one until one woman called me that.

“You’re a terrific transition man,” she said.

“What do you mean,” I said. I was getting dressed.  “What’s a transition man?”

“He’s the guy who helps a woman make the transition from her unsatisfactory life to a better existence.  It might be to change jobs, or change homes, but most often it’s to change relationships.  It could be from a marriage, boyfriend, roommate, even lesbian lovers. In view of your skill with your tongue, I’m sure a lesbian would find you satisfying.”

“So your transition has been your split from the truck-loving Ralphy Boy to what? To me?” I said.

“No, definitely not to you,” she said.  “Your destiny is to be the wonderful, gentle, safe bridge from frustrated sedentariness to life and light, and I will be grateful throughout my life for what you’ve done for me.  Thank you forever. Stay safe, be happy, and carry on your good deeds.”

And she left me like that, sprawled on my bed, where we had been lovers for weeks.  I watched her go, her behind and legs disappeared through the door, and I was left to contemplate her words.  I felt slightly hurt, but not much because our agreement had always been that we were not to pursue any long-term relationship.  It would have to be that way, because I was 64 and she was 39.

I thought about our initial contact.  I was doing something on my computer when the ICQ called for my attention. Someone named Judith wanted to say hello, so I typed back ‘hello’.

We conversed from time to time over the next few weeks. We became lovers. Judy went on to a semi-permanent relationship, had kids and built a career.

I went on to be a Transition Man for several other unsatisfied ladies aged from forty to sixty-five.

On one occasion one of the ladies showed up at my office2 years later. She must have done some research to learn where I was working. She’d been a plain, shy spinster about 40 years old, and I had liberated her. She swept into my office looking unbelievably happy and pretty. She wore a long leather coat with fur trim. She took my hands in hers and looked into my eyes.

“Thank you,” she said, and turned on her heel and swept out of the office. I love to imagine what a happy life she moved into. She’s a good person, and deserves the best. She had been a low level office worker in her father’s department until she took me home with her that day.

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Symbiotic Sex

November 21, 2017 Leave a comment

We have seen videos of sharks swimming along with a gaggle of smaller fish eagerly eating bits left in the shark’s teeth. The shark keeps its mouth is open so the tooth-pickers can do the job it needs done. It’s symbiotic: the shark gets its teeth cleaned, the smaller fish get fed and not eaten. They are parasites that are welcomed by the ones that need their help.

I believe symbiotic sex happens regularly in human society. Imagine Eileen, an attractive office manager enters a quiet pub at the end of a punishing Friday at work. The whole week was a misery, not only because of the office problems, but Charles had dumped her six weeks ago. She was badly hurt by the breakup. The apartment now felt dark and empty. Charles’ closet was empty, his chess set was gone, and Eileen is painfully lonely and longing to be held closely and gently.

Eileen expects to meet some of her co-workers for an end-of-week winding down. She looked around over the tables and along the bar stools. Her friends were not yet there. As she searched, her eyes met the eyes of a man who sat at the bar. He started to smile but she turned away too quickly to see it. It was one of those situations when there is a strong emotion in an instant, with no logical reason why.

Eileen strode through the busy tables to an unoccupied table near the back of the room. She sat with her back to the wall so she could see the entrance when her friends arrived. The man with the eyes was no longer at the bar, and Eileen shook off the uncomfortable feeling he’d given her. She checked her phone for messages and learned that her friends decided they were too tired to join her and headed home.

Suddenly, the man with the eyes stood at her side, looking down at her. He appeared to be seven feet tall in a crisp, conservative suit.

“May I join you?” he said. The words rolled out smoothly and deeply.

“I-I’m expecting friends,” she lied. He sat down opposite her.

“I’ll leave when they get here. My name is Roland O’Donnell.” He extended his hand. Eileen hesitated, and then put her hand in his. His was warm, dry, and steady; Eileen feared that hers might be limp and damp. Roland made Eileen feel vulnerable.

“Do you work around here?” said Roland.

“Yes. Just around the corner.”

“I work upstairs in this building. Are you hungry? Would you like to get something to eat?” said Roland.

They went together in Roland’s car to a small, obscure Chinese restaurant on a narrow lane off a wide thoroughfare. They shared their sad stories of lonesomeness and heartbreak.

Their meal complete, their stories shared, Roland drove Eileen home. She invited him in for a nightcap.

In the morning, she made breakfast for Roland and herself. They chatted amiably, and when Roland left, they thanked each other for satisfying their mutual needs.

In The Dark When It’s Quiet

November 1, 2017 Leave a comment

If not for the pieces of moonlight that filtered through the overhead foliage, Percy would not be able to see the walking path through the suburban forest. He had just hopped off a train a few hours ago and set about finding a place to sleep. He saw the forested park when he emerged from an older residential neighbourhood.

Percy turned off the path and pushed through some foliage until he came to a smooth place among the tree roots. The ground was covered with leaves from previous seasons and made a soft, dry mattress. He shrugged off his backpack and laid out his sleeping bag. The night was warm and clear, so he didn’t need any more shelter.

He lay back on his sleeping bag and just looked at the sky. Most stars were obliterated by the glow of the moon, but many were visible close to the horizon.  Percy reached into his backpack and fished out a sandwich and a bottle of water. While he sat on the ground snacking, he heard footfalls coming on the path. He saw to people jogging by. He knew from their voices as they chatted that one was a man and the other a woman.

A short time later, another jogger passed. Percy assumed it was a man because of his size. Every minute or so, a jogger passed. He lay down in his sleeping bag and set himself to sleep. Sleep eluded him as he found himself lying awake listening for joggers. He wondered how much time had passed. It seemed to him that it must be past midnight. He heard another jogger approaching and he climbed out of the sleeping bag and stood up to see over the bush behind which he’d been lying.

The jogger was a slender young woman. As Percy stepped over the bush he startled the woman. She reacted instantly, jumped back and pulled out a nine millimeter Remington automatic and shot him in the face. He just wanted to ask the time.

Appreciate Your Youthfulness

October 24, 2017 Leave a comment

If you are fortunate enough to be young, you should realize that it’s a wonderful state in which to be. It will not last forever, and age hurts. It slows you down and makes you sick. If you’re really wise, you’ll lay off the alcohol, smoke grass not more than once or twice a day, and never touch the chemicals at all. They’ll set you on a path to premature old age.

Your complexion, now smooth and glowing will eventually turn to creases and wrinkles. We can be proud of our creases and wrinkles. For one thing, it means we have survived for a fairly long time. That means – for most of us – that we have acquired a good deal of wisdom. Don’t think you know so much now, because you don’t. You’ll find out a decade from now that you knew nothing, comparatively speaking. The decade after that will again make the preceding decade seem empty by comparison, and on it goes.

If you think of how much you learned from age ten to age twenty, you have no reason to think that this intellectual growth will stop at thirty or fifty or whatever age. Some people, of course, learn nothing much after they’re nineteen. They decide that’s the limit, and so they limit themselves. Personally, I fill my mind with more wisdom, more information, and more details every day, and I’m almost eighty.

One of the most beautiful women in the world in her time, Elizabeth Taylor said that she appreciated her silver hair because she believed each hair represented a lesson learned, an experience experienced. We can age, and if we’re lucky, we don’t mature too much. I still find delight in simple things, in things I learn day by day. At the same time, I have lived a productive life, honoured all my obligations and responsibilities, raised a family, earned money, paid mortgages and everything a productive person does.

When summer returns, my Honda GoldWing will come out to provide some fun. Just remember that you will never look better than you do now and you will never feel better than you do now. Don’t squander it. Live, love, play, work and study because your time is now.

One Life, No Plan, No Destination

October 19, 2017 Leave a comment

I used to wonder which life path might be better.  There are people who know very early in life what they want to do with their time on Earth.  Other people don’t even think about it.  Rather, they just make the best of whatever hand is dealt them at any given period as they stumble or flow through life, depending upon any current situation.  In the end I realized that the difference in people is what governs which of the different life paths they follow.

As one of the total stumblers, I’ve had the periods of flow as well as stumble, as many of us do when we have no plan.  I never really thought about it until, one evening at a small dinner party.  It was in a friend’s home and she had a boyfriend there.  Mind you, I’m talking about mature people, middle aged.  I’d not met the boyfriend before.  He was a lawyer, and the red BMW convertible parked outside was his.  I should note that I’m a grade ten dropout.

We were chatting, subject after subject.  Perhaps I was talking too much about the varied activities in which I have indulged myself while growing into life as a commercial writer/artist.  Suddenly, the lawyer guy scowled at me and said, ‘You’ve done an awful lot, haven’t you!”  I was taken aback for a moment, and then I said, “Yes, I guess I have.” Truthfully, before that moment I had not seen my life activities as being in any way different from any lawyer or doctor or scientist.  I really never thought about how much of their lives were spent studying.

People who know me claim I was studying too.  I was observing life from different vantage points, in different people and places.  More importantly, I was not observing from a distance.  I was a part of the scenes that I observed.  I can look back and remember some very intense times, some raucous times, some dangerous, some humorous and some inexplicable.

I have had many occasions since that first realization when I have noted the narrower outlook of the people with the formalized education and organized life path.  Obviously  if one is sufficiently dedicated to do what is required to become a surgeon, one is bound to become a surgeon.  That means it’s not likely they would be sneaking a ride on a box-car bound for a distant city.  Nor would they be driving an overloaded truck of scrap iron to a distant foundry.  Perhaps they never drove a taxi or directed a film.

All individuals educate themselves in the manner that works for them.  It can’t be said which is right and which is wrong, which is better and which not as good.  Each case is individual as is the person living the life.  In my own case, I always felt an urgency to do things of which my father could approve.  It seems that every time I accomplished something, I became bored with it and stumbled on to some new challenge.  It’s made my life rich with different kinds of experiences.  That certainly helps me to write and draw.

My Second Wife

October 14, 2017 Leave a comment

This one is really stupid. I don’t mean that Masha was stupid, I mean I was stupid. Well, she was maybe stupid, but certainly a sociopath. I was forty, and my first wife had grown cold and usually rejected me. I was out in the world, and was given reason to believe that some women found me attractive. It was confirmed at the annual Christmas party. One attractive female executive, one broadcast producer, and one very young receptionist all loosened up with drink and came to my office one at a time, and told me they wanted me.

It was shocking. I didn’t know that I was seen that way at the office. The broadcast producer said, “Do I have to beg? I will if I have to.” The lady executive just entered my office, closed the door behind her and leaned back on it. She just looked at me long and hard for about 20 seconds before she flung the door open and walked out. The 19 year old receptionist said, “Nobody has been able to give me a penetration orgasm, but I think you’re the one that can.”

I had never experienced such boldness, and I felt embarrassed. I loved the woman who rejected me, and other women wanted me. It was not right, and I was obviously at a life-altering crossroad. I have since come to regret I didn’t enjoy any of those three women, but at the time I was feeling insecure.

In the months following the office party, I noticed a shapely young woman in the stenographer pool. She had a face like a China doll, although she was not Asian. She had an irregular sway when she walked, and it attracted me. We chatted a few times, having met in the coffee room at the office. We were friendly.

I sensed that she was not a ‘normal’ office worker. I believed that she was probably promiscuous, although she was married. One day I saw her carrying a tray of coffee and donuts to a meeting room. I walked up behind her and circled her with my arms and cupped her breasts in my two hands. She giggled and feigned embarrassment, so I was assured my judgment was correct.

We eventually left our spouses and became a couple. We never officially married, but I consider her my second wife because we lived together as a married couple. My 12 year old son lived with us for part of the time.

She had told me that she was formerly a stripper, and now she said she’d like to quit the office work and return to stripping. I thought that was pretty exciting, so I went along with it. Eventually, I began to make tapes of her music for the strip joint that was called, “Le Strip”. I even designed and made a couple of costumes for her. It was fun.

Then she cheated. She was dancing in a bar when a popular television newsman came in to the place. She spent that night with him, and hurried to me in the morning to tell me about it. In that moment I decided I was done with her, and would disentangle myself after 4 years together. She then began to watch the guy on television. She had never watched news before, and she obviously didn’t care how it felt to me.  There were many other moments of that kind until I came to realize she was a sociopath and unable to feel. She even told me once, early in our relationship, that she didn’t know what love is.

I will have to write more about her in the future, because there’s too much to tell here and now. I split from her and enjoyed a really active social and sex life for a couple of years, while getting over the breakup. I acquired a good position in a distant city, and left my home town behind. The pleasures of bachelorhood continued in the new place.

THE SZENTENDRE TRAIN – part 14 of 30

September 12, 2017 Leave a comment

I stood with my face up to the spray, the warm water flowing over my nipples, around my breasts, down over my belly and between my thighs.  My heart was pounding, the warm water, the scent of the young male animal behind me and my imagined images of how he looked made my knees weak.  After a moment he put his hands on my shoulders and sent a wave of heat through me.  He stepped closer and slid his hands down from my shoulders and wrapped his thick arms around me.  He cupped my breasts. His hands were big, warm, and gentle.

Attila held me and pressed himself to my back. His firm chest was pressed to me and he was kissing the top of my head through my wet hair.  He caressed my breasts, and I could feel him getting hot, pressing against me.  I laid my head back on his shoulder and just let him have me, and silently rejoiced in the mounting thrill. The orgasm consolidated in me. I could feel its fragments lifting up through my legs from my toes, through my arms from my fingers, through my breasts to my vagina, where it all came together in a gut wrenching contraction that made me yowl like an alley cat.  I was too weak to stand, and Ati’s strong arms held me securely.  The warm water continued to cascade over me while I regained my composure. I turned in Attila’s arms and pressed my breasts flat against his hard stomach.

Attila didn’t speak with his voice, but his hands were worshipping me.  They wandered slowly over my back, down to my butt, around my hips… like he was a blind man, reading me in Braille.  My cheek rested on his chest, and I just stood there enjoying the mounting desire within me.  I felt my inhibitions drifting away and I was sure I could do anything I wanted to do. I felt him quiver at my touch.  I had not had a lover to caress in more than a year, and I didn’t want to miss any potential for pleasure. I might never get another opportunity like that.