1:59.98
Her time got my attention. She broke the elusive two minute
mark at a division III meet.
When she climbed from the pool I knew. She put Daryl Hannah
to shame.
A mermaid in the water and a goddess on land.
Monday, June 30, 2014
Monday, June 23, 2014
Signs?
If I Had a Girl (Short Skirt / Long Jacket)
Hey Mami, American Girl, Southern Girl
Almost Lover, Young and Beautiful
She’s So Mean, Gives You Hell, Ring of Fire
Desire, One More Night, A Little Less Conversation
Falling in Hate, Hallelujah
Tuesday, June 17, 2014
The Church in Aci Castello
“He taught me how to read people’s eyes. He taught me how to
anticipate their actions, how to know what they were thinking before even they
did. ‘It was the eyes,’ he would say. ‘Always watch the eyes.’” Daniel
explained their relationship as we stepped off the train in Catania. The warm breeze
felt good in the hot, Mediterranean sun.
It was a bit of a walk to Aci Castello. Daniel went on about
Antonio. “He always talked about Sicily. His grandmother lived here her whole
life. Antonio loved to come visit her. He said he was going to move here when
he retired.”
“Is that why you know he’ll be here,” I asked, “for his
grandmother’s funeral.”
Daniel slowed his pace and stopped. He looked at the ground
then raised his gaze to the sea on our right and stood like a statue deep in thought.
I read his eyes. He was conflicted. He started walking again.
“Yes,” he said finally, “he loved his grandmother. There is
nothing that would keep him from her funeral.” We arrived at the village and
made our way to the church where the funeral was to be held.
We walked in at the back, the nave open before us. Daniel blessed
himself with Holy Water and surveyed the interior in a manner that said, “We’re
not really here to pray.” He did that wherever he went, a 360 degree surveillance
tactic that was taught in close quarter, urban combat training as a SEAL,
reinforced as a CIA field agent, and distilled to perfection – by Antonio – in his
current trade. It was impressive to watch really; within two seconds Daniel
could walk into a room and tell you how many people were there, their
approximate ages, their sex, what they were wearing, and if they were a threat.
If he expected a threat, the time to locate it was practically instantaneous.
There was no one there. Daniel turned to me and whispered, “Two
in the vestry.” I had no idea how he knew. I didn’t hear anything and there was
no direct line of sight. “Sit down,” followed and I took a seat at the far side
of the rear most pew. If things didn’t go according to plan, I wanted to be out
of the way.
Daniel walked a few rows ahead, genuflected and entered a
pew. He knelt in prayer. The scene before me was both logical and ironic.
Daniel lowered his right hand and slid it into his linen
jacket towards his left breast where his Sig Sauer was secured. As he did this,
Antonio and the Priest walked in from the vestry. Antonio looked right at
Daniel as he walked into the room as though he already knew he was there. He whispered
something to the Priest. The Priest turned and left immediately.
“Ciao, Daniel,” Antonio said in a calm voice. “I’m surprised
they sent you. Who’s your friend?”
Daniel sat up on the pew. “I’m teaching him the ropes.” By
this time the Sig was loosed from its holster and resting on Daniel’s right
thigh.
Antonio walked to the front of the high alter where his
grandmother’s body lay at peace. He kissed the fingertips of his right hand and
rested it on the casket. He stood for a moment as if in silent prayer and then
turned towards the pews.
“I’m sorry friend, but you were the one that taught me to
never give up a tactical position.”
The corners of Antonio’s mouth turned up slightly.
The scene was linear now. Both men stood in the isle looking
at each other, reading each other’s eyes. Antonio was calculating odds,
evaluating routes of escape, trying to figure out if Daniel would carry out a
contract on a friend as close as he was – Daniel’s eyes said he would. Daniel,
Sig in hand, had the clear upper hand. He was reading Antonio’s eyes
anticipating his movement, but he couldn’t help feel that something was not
right. He had Antonio. There really was no escape, but his eyes… his eyes held
a genuine calmness.
Our linear scene started to morph into one without logical
boundaries as Daniel started to make sense of the situation. He slowly turned
his head to his left and stared down the barrel of my Desert Eagle 44. He
lowered his right hand to his side.
“I’m sorry, Daniel. How is it that you never saw it in my
eyes?”
Monday, June 16, 2014
Trust
Friday, June 13, 2014
Teddy
 |
| Copyright-Ted Strutz |
It was ironic, the view from dentist’s office at the St. Alban’s
Home for Unwanted Boys in Eastport. Sure that wasn’t the official name, but
that’s what us inmates called it. It’s strange how quickly things change. I
remember playing with Teddy every day: stealing 5 cent candies from Cooper’s
Candy Shop, running around the docks where the fishing boats would push off
before the sun stirred, pestering the ferry goers coming to work at the cannery.
It was an accident, one that I will have to live with every day. I miss him more than anyone. Isn’t that punishment enough?
Tuesday, June 10, 2014
It Wasn't Enough
Birds flying high
Do you even care
Sun in the sky
Darkness everywhere
Reeds driftin’ on by
Give me what you’ll share
Fish in the sea
Your wants disappear
River running free
Drowning in fear
Blossoms in the trees
But autumn is near
Dragonfly out in the sun
You’re the hawk close behind
Butterflies all out havin’ fun
They're the poisonous kind
Sleep in peace when day is done
Your body here, I’ve lost your soul and your mind
Stars when you shine
Where did we go wrong
Scent of the pine
Rots where once strong
Yeah, freedom is mine
We don't belong
We gave it everything we had, but it wasn’t enough.
It’s a new dawn
It’s a new day
It’s a new life
For me
And…
Me Tarzan, You Jane
Angie and I walked into the club. This wasn’t your ordinary
club and this wasn’t your ordinary night. This was a swingers club and tonight
was a BDSM party. If you’ve never been, stop repressing your sexual desires and
go; it’s a hell of a time. Angie and I don’t swing per se, but BDSM is on the
table and the sexual energy in the room can take whatever you bring and
supercharge it.
Angie wore a black dress that screamed, “You’re getting
lucky tonight.” The silver studded belt, the black pumps, and the stockings
that elicited stares and comments at the liquor store we stopped at on the way
added, “And you’re going to really like it,” like a kinky afterthought.
We brought a bottle of wine—47 Pound Rooster merlot, a big
bottle—and gave it to the man at the door. He ran it up to the bar for us. We
put some things in a locker and headed upstairs. The upstairs room is set up as
a nightclub. Dance floor, bar, DJ booth, but the stripper pole in the middle of
the floor belies something more. Tonight though, tonight there was no mistaking
this for a night club.
The wax play station we passed on the way up the first set
of stairs, the naked guy with the blindfold strapped to a St. Andrews Cross at
the mezzanine, and the abundance of dungeon furniture around the dance floor --
this was going to be a good night. Angie and I headed to the small buffet for a
little dinner before the night really began. We got our plates and sat down on
one of the couches facing the bar, and that is when we saw her. She was hot,
really hot, as Angie put it, “porn star hot.”
I think I saw her first; of course though, I’m a guy. Guys
don’t miss women like Jane. She was talking to some people at the bar, and she
was wearing a small white ruffled skirt. I turned to Angie and said, “Wow. Look
at her.”
Angie replied, “Who?”
“Really?!” I thought, but I said, “The one in the froufrou
skirt.” By this point Jane was shimmying out of the froufrou skirt I used to
single her out. The top she was wearing immediately followed. The only thing
that remained was the strappy, fuck-me high heels and an amazingly sexy
G-string tattoo that also seemed to say, “Fuck me.” Okay, everything about Jane
said, “Fuck me,” but you get my point.
“And now she’s naked,” said Angie with a bit of smile.
I went up to the bar to get some wine for Angie and me… and
to get a closer look at Jane. I got the wine and on my way back to Angie, I
politely interrupted the conversation she was having and said, “Excuse me, I
don’t mean to be out of line, but you are incredibly beautiful.”
Jane smiled and introduced herself. I went back over to
Angie and gave her a glass. The two of us sat there a while finishing dinner,
drinking wine, and staring at Jane. Not casual glances, but rather something
more akin to what a stalker would do. Angie brought up her breasts first. She
said they looked fake. I think I said, “So? They look awesome.” Angie agreed. I
got up.
Angie said, “Where are you going?”
“To tell her that you can’t take your eyes off her breasts,”
I replied, not thinking I had the balls to go through with it. Thank god I did.
“Excuse me again,” I said, “but my wife can’t take her eyes
off of you.”
To my delight she replied, “Well, I should come over there
then.”
We walked back to where Angie was sitting, and Jane sat down
next her. I sat on Angie’s other side. Some pleasantries were exchanged, but
Angie and I were so taken with the Jane’s breasts that neither of us remembered
her name. When we asked again, she said, “Jane, like Me Tarzan, you Jane.”
Angie said that she wouldn’t forget it now. Neither of us did.
I said to Jane that Angie was a little shy, but really
wanted to touch her breasts. I’m not sure if that was true, but I got things
this far; I was going to try my luck. Jane complied. I asked if I could as well
and again, Jane complied. I was starting to like Jane. I commented on how
spectacular they were. She said, “They are really fun to wear.” Jane asked if
she could touch Angie’s breasts. I desperately looked around for some guy to
fist bump. There was none. Fuck.
Angie said, “They are not as nice as yours.” I didn’t have a
chance to disagree with her before Jane did. Out came Angie’s beautiful
breasts, which were at once covered with Jane’s hands. Angie’s hands on Jane’s
breasts, Jane’s hands on Angie’s breasts, and no one for me to fist bump. Oh
well, I would just have to enjoy the show.
I said, half joking and all hopeful, “I’m just throwing this
out there but if either of you want to use your mouth, I’m perfectly fine with
that.”
Jane replied somewhat sarcastically, but with a tone that
hinted that she liked the idea, “You’re just throwing that out there, are you?”
Unfortunately, we didn’t get to that. We were informed that
the wax was ready. Angie was eager. Jane was up for anything. Down we went.
Angie undressed, showing off her amazing body and got on the
table face up. Sir Todd talked a bit about wax and then began the
demonstration. He dipped a ladle in a crockpot full of paraffin wax and dripped
it all over my wife’s naked body. She groaned with pleasure. “Drip it from
higher and the wax is cooler when it hits the skin,” he explained as he raised
the ladle. “Drip it from closer and it’s hotter.” She winced as he lowered the
ladle.
The wax congealed in a second skin over Angie’s breasts and
stomach. As she started to moan, I turned to Jane, took her hand, and gently
placed it on Angie’s thigh. Jane didn’t hesitate. She started to stroke Angie’s
thigh, leg, whatever. We were done with the dripping part, now the fun part.
Sir Todd used a sharp blade to shave the wax from Angie’s body. Jane and I
peeled wax from wherever we could. Angie enjoyed the hands.
Now it was Jane’s turn. Jane didn’t wait; she knew what she
wanted. From the first drip she was moaning. “Pull my hair,” she said to me. It
was my turn to comply. “Squeeze my throat.” I instantly reached out and took
her breath. She tapped my hand to release. I did. She put my hand over her
mouth and nose. I squeezed tight so she couldn’t breathe. She tapped my hand
when she need air moaned and put my hand back on her mouth. Sir Todd’s wife
asked if she could use her Hitachi on Jane. Jane nodded in agreement. The
hands, the wax, the breath play, and mostly the Hitachi made Jane come hard.
We peeled the wax from her perfect body while she recovered.
It was time for the fucking machine demonstration.
Seriously, it was a demonstration of a Sybian and a Fuckzall. Angie loves the
Sybian. She volunteered quickly to be the demo bottom for that ride. Jane sat
next to me with her hand on my thigh through Angie’s tour of ecstasy. Judging
by the repeated screaming, Angie was more than a little happy.
When Angie was done, she came over and sat on the other side
of me from Jane. This is where things got really interesting, for me anyway.
They were caressing each other’s chests while the Fuckzall demo went on.
Somewhere during the evening—I don’t remember when—I noticed that pulling
Jane’s hair made her shut up, groan appreciatively, and get really submissive.
I turned to Angie and said, “You want to see something
funny?”
Angie said, “Yeah.”
I pulled Jane’s hair and again she groaned and looked completely
at peace. I let go and she snapped to. I did it again, same response. This time
I turned her head toward mine and played my mouth on hers. I licked her lips;
she opened her mouth and—ever so slightly—stuck her tongue out. As I liked and
sucked on her tongue I reached my other hand to the back of Angie’s head,
grabbed her hair, and slowly moved her mouth to ours. The three of us kissed
and licked and moaned. Angie’s hands once again found Jane’s breasts and Jane’s
once again found Angie’s. And I still was left without my juvenile need for a
fist bump.
After a few amazing minutes we were interrupted by the guy
who gave the class. He was cleaning up and we were in his way. Seriously?!
Fucking cock-blocker! Not cool!
Jane got up. Angie went down. Angie loves cock in her mouth
and tonight, with everything else that had happened she was eager. Jane was
still in the area. Given how everything else had been going, I figured I'd try
my luck one more time. “Jane,” I said, “If you have a minute we can use a
hand.”
Jane came over and started to caress Angie’s breasts again.
“That’s not what I had in mind,” I said.
“I know what you had in mind,” she replied as she slid a
hand to my cock and started stroking it. She continued for a while until she
had to leave for a scene of her own.
The rest of Angie’s and my night went on without our new
friend and it was incredible. We didn’t see Jane again until we were leaving
for the night. Jane left us with a kiss and one last breast squeeze for Angie,
a kiss and hug for me, and a few memories that will not soon fade.
On the car ride home, Angie commented, “Oh my God, She was
the hottest girl in the place.”
I quickly corrected, “The second hottest girl in the place.”
Either way, I was hanging with the two hottest ladies in the
place.
To any guys reading this… virtual fist bump!
Monday, June 9, 2014
My Brat
I don't like yelling and fighting, and I can't quarrel.
Bullshit! You love messing with me.
Shut up, I hate you.
I love it when you get feisty. You are a brat, aren't you.
Sorry, Sir. I am a brat. Your brat.
Monday, June 2, 2014
Fear
We all have fears. Some are rational; some are irrational.
Fear of spiders. Fear of heights. Fear of erect penises (ithyphallophobia
– it’s real, look it up). I wish mine was that simple.
My fear is of losing the person I love. Loss can be in the horrible
sense of something terrible happening to her or it can be in the horrible sense
of her leaving me. I have no basis for this fear. I imagine the likelihood of
the former is quite slim. And I am certain that she loves me very much, so the likelihood
if the latter, too, is quite slim. So, why does this fear persist?
I spend more time than I should rationalizing away this
irrational fear. Recently she went to Miami with a friend. I was nervous. Miami
does not strike me as safe place; I’ve seen Dexter. I told her to text me
frequently. She did, but not enough for me. There are millions of people that
pass through Miami every year and all but a minute handful make it home okay.
That knowledge helps but not completely. I still worry.
The jealousy is the worst though. I watch myself creating scenarios
in my head at the slightest thing and I manage to get myself in quite the tizzy.
I make jokes, but I don’t like it. It’s odd. I don’t have a problem with
certain things – a guy putting his hands on her body on a nightclub dance floor
– but text her a couple of time in an evening and the green-eyed monster begins
to emerge like Mr. Hyde on a caffeine kick.
I always keep the cattle prod close at hand for when Mr.
Hyde makes an appearance. I know that my fear is unfounded. I know that it is
irrational and there is no reason for her to suffer from it. It is my problem;
it shouldn’t have to be hers. I love her too much for that. I guess she knows
now.
Genuine Love
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