Sunday, April 22, 2018

Two Zero Eight: Caramel

I'm leaving notes here on a springtime afternoon. I have been thinking of how disconnected I feel from everything and how empty the year has felt.

Let's begin with---

My  friend who teaches abroad was once picked up by a chic Foreign couple in London Town. Nothing so terribly out-of-the-ordinary for chic couples to do in clubs there, of course--- bring home a lovely girl to play with. What made this story different is that the couple were from the Maldives--- he was some kind of junior cabinet minister; she was an official in some NGO or other. Wealthy Muslim husbands loose in LDN have been known to sample the local versions of depravity, but having the active participation of their wives, and especially a wife who works with some Islamic women's NGO...that makes for a rather more interesting story. Well, both the minister and his wife were Oxbridge-educated, so that may explain a lot. My friend would certainly have approved of the accents and the tailoring...as well as the exotic looks ("sculpted caramel", she enthused). She didn't tell me if the minister and his wife had any particular kinks; that's something I must ask about.

No. I have no idea if they paid her. I'd like to think so, if only because I rather like the idea of my friend's services being charged to the Maldives Treasury. My  friend does identify with Riley Keough's character in "The Girlfriend Experience". That shows good taste. Ms. Keough was strikingly lovely in that.

My  friend watched "The Girlfriend Experience" and laughed. Why, she said with perfectly poised sarcasm, this show is so...unbelievable! A beautiful girl with an academic background like that becoming a highly-paid companion to wealthy Older Men! Who'd ever believe in a such a character? I mean, in someone whose life was...exactly...like mine? If I'd been across a table from her in London Town, I'd have risen to my feet and stalked out of the bar without another word. Though I couldn't have had the satisfaction of sticking her with the check. She probably has a credit card from one of her Patrons. Or an envelope of cash. Though I wonder sometimes if my friend doesn't have enough of dark side to be more like the heroine/narrator in L.S. Hilton's "Maestra"...

That story is one about wealth and class markers. This one is darker.  A friend down in the Land of the Long White Cloud wrote me in November 2012 to say---

My story probably isn't very remarkable...I was 16, drunk, high, at a party. He was someone's older brother. I didn't want him, didn't want it. He held me down and pulled my underwear down. At one point he had his hand around my throat, then in my hair. He was small, I remember that. He felt so small, and barely hard. He came on my thigh.

That's all. No description of what the party was like, no description of how he got her (presumably) alone, no description of what came after. She's never returned to the story. All my instincts argue that the context is what would make the story work--- what happened before and after. I suppose I never will know.

Yet I did ask the same girl if that was her only non-consensual experience in her teens. She wrote back (this was in May 2016) about a boy named Garrett:

he was tall, dark haired, rugby players strong build. the first time, he forced me to suck him. we were at his house, we'd been in his spa pool and watching movies when he pushed my head down and told me to suck him. I was 14, i think. he said you know you want to and that i deserved it. he came in my mouth of course. he is a big shot banker now...he emailed me a few weeks ago to help him work out a child support settlement! he never properly raped me later,  but we fucked for years after that, i wanted him so badly!

She was fourteen, she says. No idea about Garrett's age, or how often or for how long they did have sex. No idea about the key question, either--- whether they had sex again in 2016, when she was doing financial work on his child support settlement.

She always leaves mysteries, my friend does. This final one is from March 2014. Max is her golden retriever, still just a pup in those days:

did i tell you about the gorgeous maori boy i'm fucking. he's tall, with short dark hair & lovely brown eyes, light brown skin... he works at the doggy day care place max goes to, so he picks him up & drops him off every day. he was dropping max home one day and i was sitting in the garden drinking a beer. we started talking, and he showed me how he taught max to play dead. max was his last drop-off for the day, so i asked him to stay for a drink. he loved it that i don't wear underwear. his cock is beautiful.

Again, a mystery. Was it more than the one time? How did the two of them transition from the garden to the bedroom or the sofa? More mysteries. I'll have these notes, but I wish I had more context, more follow-up on the stories, and of course more detail.






Sunday, April 15, 2018

Two Zero Seven: Cars

My friend far away across the seas once sent me this note:

So many nights spent driving around with boys...I got my licence quite late, so if I wanted a ride somewhere I had to text a boy...and I liked to make it worth his while. 

I do love sucking cock, I always have. I have friends, even now, who hate it, and I just can't understand that. It is so hot, and such a powerful, sexy thing to do. I get so wet with a cock in my mouth, before I've even been touched. And I love the feeling when a man comes in my mouth.

She always claimed to have been the girl in her high school class who offered up instruction to boys:

Best memories... God, so many nights in cars...I was able to practice on boys just a few years older than me, so when I started spending time with much older men I was very good. And I like to think I returned the favour -- teaching 16 year old boys just how to eat pussy. 

I do remember one night...when I sucked two boys off while the other one watched... I loved that, and so did they. After I'd sucked off both of them and we smoked a joint, they did each other, which made me so wet... We were in the back of a car, and later I did ride one of them... But I still wish I could have had them both at the same time.

She wrote me later about the story with the two boys. It's not a bad story. Back of a Range Rover, parked at a lookout high above her home city. The extended version of the story is excellent and very hot. And plausible, mind you.  I've always loved her tales of her teen adventures, and I want to know more, to know about more nights at lookouts or parked on beaches. My only question about her stories is that she always portrays herself as very blasé about being seen having sex, as open to being naked around more than one person. I do wonder about that. Fifteen or sixteen seems to me to have been a time when people are easily embarrassed and usually very uncomfortable with their bodies. And my friend was ana/mia off and on through her teens and early twenties. I need to explore that issue.

In any case, the stories do make me deeply envious and jealous. I wish I could've been part of her teen adventures. I wish I could've been the one giving her rides. And I wish I could've been part of stories like that in my own teen years.

As much as I do love her stories, I find myself reading them and feeling glum. My teen years were nothing like hers. I do worry that she judges me for not having stories like hers, stories of her adventures amongst her city's posh teens. I worry that I'll never have the social and sexual points she amassed in those days.


Sunday, April 8, 2018

Two Zero Six: Grapes

Long ago, in the lost Year Eleven, a lovely young friend far away beyond the seas wrote me that:

oh, yes! went to Wairarapa wine country for a festival and had a lot of naughty fun between the wines.

She went on to say that

we met a group of guys early in the day and had a few drinks together, then came across them again at the last vineyard of the day...i sucked two cocks between the wines as the sun was going down...and scored 3 Es!

I asked if this had been two separate encounters, or if the two men had watched each other. Her reply was that

they both watched each other...then one of them licked my cunt...he was incredibly good considering how drunk he was.  i was on the ground, in a black and white striped summer dress, low cut and short, no bra or panties...i actually took a photo on my iphone of him licking my cunt...i have a shot of the top of his head, then another of him looking up & smiling...i love waking up in the morning & seeing photographic evidence of the night's depravity! they were both 50ish...and they both came in my mouth.

I found that story today in my email archives. Seven years old, it seems. That is a long time ago. My friend would've  been twenty-four or twenty-five at the time. She and I are still active correspondents (we've known one another for a dozen years now), and I suppose I'll remind her of the story. All these years later, I'd love to hear her own years-later take on what she told me once upon a time.I have asked myself whether I believe the story. It's not inherently implausible. She lives just south of the wine country, and she does enjoy driving up with her girlfriends for festivals. She does like older men, and she likes having more than a few drinks.

Of course, I'll never really know if the story is true. There's no way to do that, not at a distance of seven years and almost eight thousand miles. I'd like to think it's true because it's a good story, though I will admit to a gnawing, painful mix of jealousy and envy.

Jealousy? Well, that's obvious. In a better world, she'd have been doing things out amongst the vines with me. In a better world, she and I would've taken E and sampled wines and done wicked things. Envy? Well, as a gentleman of a certain age, and as someone whose social calendar hasn't been full this season, I envy her both the visit to the wine country and the adventure there under the grapes. I'd note that it's the stories I envy as much as the sex.   Sex with my friend would've been a delight, but having the story to tell--- sex with strangers! sex in a vineyard! wine country sunset! ---is even better than the act itself.Now I have said that for most of my life. The story is better than the act itself, and the story lasts for a lifetime. I will envy her being able to tell that story to her girlfriends over drinks for years.










Monday, March 26, 2018

Two Zero Five: Casual Encounters

I read today that Craigslist has shut down its Casual Encounters areas. I have to say that I'm saddened by that.

I was never a user of Casual Encounters. I've never been someone who uses hook-up apps. I've never been at Tinder or Match.com or any of their kin. For all the obvious reasons, I've always been too afraid to go to use hook-up apps. It's hard--- impossible, really ---to imagine that anyone would swipe whatever the direction is to show any interest in me.  Tinder and its rivals aren't places where whatever strengths I have can be brought to bear. The things that I've spent a lifetime working round--- age and looks ---are on immediate display there, and none of my strengths show up in a profile photo and a two or three sentence biography.

Back in the days of my own lost youth (or at least back at the end of the last millennium), I did visit Nerve.com a fair amount. I've no idea if Nerve.com still exists, or if it still has a Personals area. I'm actually wondering if Personals style ads are still done, here almost twenty years into the new millennium--- if a world where even text messages seem like a lot of trouble to do, does anyone under, say, forty have the energy to sit and construct a Personals ad? I also wonder if the corporate panic that's caused Craigslist to shut down Casual Encounters will spell the end of Personals sites (where they still exist).

Nerve.com marketed itself as an erotica-for-intellectuals site. You were encouraged to talk about your interests in books, films, politics, art. I suppose that did encourage a bit of pretentiousness (cf. the old New York Review of Books personals) but it also gave someone like me a chance to be seen as useful. It also brought out a fair number of lovely undergraduate and early twentysomething girls who prided themselves on being both bookish and sexually adventurous.

I did meet a few interesting partners there. There were telephone encounters, and one or two webcam encounters. One girl--- a lovely girl in Cincinnati who went on to joint degrees in Law and Library Science ---did become deeply important to me. I've only come close to marrying a bare handful of times in my life, but she was very much on the small list of girls I'd have been proud to marry or partner with. I remember exchanging messages with her at Nerve.com (she called herself SmartChick in those days), and I remember that first night when we spoke by phone. We stayed on the phone for hours and hours, and for almost two years we never slept (together or apart) without long, long conversations in the dark.

Casual Encounters was always something I'd read for amusement more than any thought of placing an ad. The ads were a strange mix of the hilarious, the hopeless, and the grimly earnest. There were disturbing ads that could've come straight from a novel about serial killers and affecting and sad ads that had such obvious backstories of loneliness and empty days. I'd read Craiglist Casual Encounters sites in cities all over the world and try to gauge what the sexual tastes of the lonely, the adventurous, and the desperate were out there across continents and seas. I read the ads the way I'd read short stories, and I'd laugh or sigh or just try to build up an image of who the characters in the stories were and what they were life in what's known as Real Life.

I've seen a couple of eulogies at on-line magazines for Casual Encounters. One girl now in her late twenties wrote about her freshman year at university and realising that she could summon sexual partners to her residence hall and never have to leave the building or put shoes on. Another girl wrote about how Casual Encounters could produce scary results and dull ones both, but how the ads let her finally accept that sex could be adventurous and exciting, let her experiment with all the half-formed hopes and fantasies and dreams she was having. Casual Encounters, they both argued, allowed a belief that there was a world of sexual (and, yes, romantic) experiences and partners out there. The Casual Encounters ads let you believe that there really was someone out there whose interests would mirror yours.  That's no small thing, really.

Anyway... I will miss Casual Encounters. I'll miss the possibilities it offered, the sense of adventure implicit in the idea of following up the ads.  For all that so many of the ads were silly or stupid or incoherent, Craigslist Casual Encounters did make the world seem more open to experience and pleasure and excitement. Those ads made sex (and romance) seem more accessible, more possible. Our world will be a bit less delightful without them.


Tuesday, December 26, 2017

Two Zero Four: Weinstein

A story that remains a mystery---

A friend of a friend, someone who teaches Law and History at one of the non-Oxbridge British universities, is as they say "taking advice" in a post-Weinstein matter. He's consulting his solicitors over what amounts to a forced retirement at his job.

He's sixty-ish, I think, so he'd have had another ten years of teaching. Right now he's been suspended and the university administration is orchestrating a forced retirement. He's resisting and is, as best I can tell, planning to sue over the university's failure to follow its own procedures and give him the process written into his contract. My understanding is that it's all based on accusations of "inappropriate conduct", though I have no specifics.

He's at a British university and he's a bachelor, so the first thought his friends here had--- that I had, too ---was that this was about handsome young undergraduate males. That would be the usual British thing, no? But I suppose it could be girls. I know nothing of his preferences or kinks. He's a private enough man, and he did practice law for a while, so he's been trained to discretion. My friends and I agree that it's not particularly relevant what his tastes are, and it doesn't matter to us which team he plays for. We'd probably like to know, though, if only for purposes of gossip.

We have no clue what the specific accusations are. Part of his legal argument is in fact that he's never been given specifics or a chance to refute them.  I can't comment on what he's supposed to have done.  He seems ready for a legal action, for whatever that's worth. All I can do--- all his friends can do ---is watch from the transatlantic sidelines.

I note the story because this is the first brush I've had with the post-Weinstein era.  I was once a mid-semester replacement for a faculty member who'd taken to showing up drunk for his lectures and who'd drunkenly crashed a university vehicle while driving to some official meeting.  But I've never known anyone who was accused of "inappropriate conduct", whatever that might be.

The person in question should be financially okay even if he is forcibly retired. My understanding is that he'll have a pension from his university and that he has a fair amount of land and investments in Pennsylvania (where he's originally from). I'm not so much worried about him as I am intrigued with what the accusations are and what level of process he's entitled to under British law and his own contract.

I've always said that my own love life has been based on conduct as inappropriate as I can manage for these last few decades.  I'm not surprised that in the post-Weinstein world I'll have yet another level of  social disdain attached to me.

Two Zero Three: De Bourgh

It's been a sombre year. So very little good has happened, and many of us here in what used to be the American republic are emotionally exhausted. In the wake of the Weinstein scandal, in a post-Weinstein world, it's harder and harder to write about sex. We no longer see sex as something that's exciting or fun. Sex is no longer wicked in the fun way. Everything I've seen in the past few months has described sex only in terms of power and coercion. Every single article I've read about the future of sex has been written by a woman who's taken it as a given that flirtation and seduction, especially if done at any location vaguely connected with work or school, is inherently oppressive and disgusting.

The only person I know of who's still enjoying herself having sex is my friend in London Town, who wrote me about her Christmas plans while visiting family in the States:

Had a nice visit with my former professor (including naughty sex on the floor of an empty classroom at my old university while he was supposedly administering the final exam to a class of his students) en route and am now in the hills of New England deciding if I want to take either of my out-of-the-blue marriage proposals seriously. I'm leaning towards no. Though I am making plans to visit the very wealthy, powerful, never-married (and really not at all bad-looking) 70-year-old at one of his houses before I head back to London. But I honestly think it would probably be a disaster.

She also had this to say about the social hierarchies of air travel:

Regarding air travel, first class is better than business class. However, many airlines only have either first OR business class these days. British Airways is somewhat unusual in having four classes on many of its flights: economy, premium economy, business, and first.

That was in response to a note of mine speculating that one of her Older, Moneyed Gentlemen would've paid for her first-class flight from LDN to BOS. I'd wondered if first-class or business class was the more exclusive these days. That's not something I'm likely to know.  I have the idea that she once flew to some kind of rendezvous in Singapore (professional? romantic?) in one of those 0.10% masters-of-the-global-economy quasi-cabins that airlines like Emirates and Singapore reserve for the global elite. Now of course I saw the first "Emmanuelle" film many a year ago, so my only question is whether she did the Young Sylvia Kristel-on-the-Concorde thing in joining the Mile-High Club. The in-flight amenities and cuisine I couldn't care less about. It's only the carnal uses of the flight time that I care about.

Anyway...I do wonder if she'll give me a call from wherever she is in New England. I like her, and of course I enjoy hearing her stories. But I forever feel utterly de bas en haut around her. Socially, intellectually, sexually. I mean, she's never played Lady Catherine de Bourgh around me, but I can't help imputing condescension on her part. I have a very keen sense of class distinctions and rank-hierarchy, and a very heightened sense of self-loathing. Let's be clear. I could never be part of any of her Encounters or Stories on the grounds of my looks, poverty, social ineptitude, and possible sexual incompetence. Even if I had an invitation, I'd never take the risk of total humiliation.

I used to think that I was rather good at creating fantasy scenarios via telephone. I was actually quite proud of the craft. I think it was listening to my  friend in London Town talk about men and their fantasies--- her even more than listening to Ms. Flox do the same thing at her various blogs  ---that persuaded me that anything I might create or fancy would be trivial, jejune, and pathetic. So that's just one less thing I can risk doing, and certainly one less thing I can believe gives me any value.

Saturday, November 18, 2017

Two Zero Two: Events

Now, then... my ex-Bloomsbury friend wrote me from London Town today to say that:

When I was an undergrad, I had an enormous crush on one of my classics professors. An ancient historian, he was about thirty and good-looking, as well as funny, brilliant, and charismatic. I often thought about trying to seduce him, but I was inexperienced (an 18-year-old virgin when I met him) and I wouldn't have known how to begin.

Finally slept with him--nearly two decades later. He arranged to give a talk in the UK to see me. Apparently, he had a crush on me back then as well, and he's been sexually obsessed with me ever since. He had lots of photos of me on his phone, including ones that I hadn't realized he took when I spoke at BU several years ago. How funny. Anyway, I can highly recommend decades of sexual tension as an aphrodisiac.

Spent last night in a suite at the Ritz with a different lover.  We went down to the private club and casino in the basement just to check it out, but it is horribly tacky so we left and went to Brooks's around the corner for champagne in chilled silver tankards. I have a serious thing for champagne in chilled silver tankards. We actually forgot to pay on the way out (though it's a club and they have his info so it's not really that big a deal because they can bill him later) but he popped into today to pay only to find out that some old codger had paid for our champagne on the basis that he thought we were so sweet and young and in love and it reminded him of his courtship back in the day. His eyesight must be truly terrible. If only he had known that he was watching a middle-aged married man with his mistress who is 17 years his junior. Anyway, we had a lovely four-course meal in the Ritz dining room, with a truffle course, and I picked a fantastic Amarone. Jacob Rees-Mogg was dining at the table next to us and he and his companion had crepes suzette for desert. Fun to watch.

This lover has been approached for a rather high office, which he doesn't think he wants, though he did say he would take it if I would be willing to marry him and be Lady X. I don't think I am, though.

And I didn't mention that I spent the night before that with a different lover/friend: the 76-year-old retired senior judge I've known for eight years. I tell him about all the other lovers. He actually managed to come twice in under an hour (without any pharmaceutical aid). Mind you, the Ritz man managed NINE times between 4PM and 10AM...he says it's never been like that with anyone else. I'm deeply relieved that I have two nights off before my next date on Friday, which is with a well-known architectural critic.

The retired judge approves of this one because he's not married, not especially gay, and age-appropriate and would fit in with my social circle (in fact we have quite a few friends in common). 

I'm reasonably sure she's telling the absolute truth here.

I've known her since...well...since she probably was eighteen or nineteen. I don't doubt that some older faculty person could be sexually obsessed with her for eighteen years. That seems to be something she could induce. Mind you, I'm not jealous here. No jealousy. But there's no small amount of envy regarding the social circles she moves in. I mean...I'd like to go to Brooks's (they'd never let me through the door), and I'm seriously, painfully envious of the whole chilled-silver-tankard-of-champagne thing. Though I might've used a silver tankard to bash Jacob Rees-Mogg in the head just on antifa principle. Or aesthetic principle. Jacob Rees-Mogg really is ruining all my Oxbridge fantasies. Aloysius the Bear would certainly not approve of him.