It is 12:10 and I hate 2017. I can't wait until 2018.

[Phil_musc]

PK, you have become our resident William Faulkner. Thank you for sharing your myriad talents with us again.

Have you considered maybe doing a piece for Selected Shorts on NPR? (No eye-rolling at "doing a piece" please)

[BasketBaller]

Then there, in my mind's eye were a set of flip flops, worn by Mr. Geiger. Mr. Geiger was a fireman who lived next door and his son was my age and a good friend during my prepubescent years. His son and I could often be found on a summer's day out in the small, above ground pool and Mr. Geiger would come out to check on us. He was usually shirtless with a smooth muscular chest and the strong upper body you would expect of a young fireman. His arms were well defined. As I recall, he always wore an olive drab bathing suit and flip flops and he strode like a man in the full bloom of his manhood. His bathing suit always had a significant bulge and the suit seemed way too small to completely contain something that large. The image of Mr. Geiger in his bathing suit and the bulge and the heavy muscular sound of his flip flops as he strode in my mind, was enough to convulse my body and leave me sweaty and drained and likely in need of another shower.

 

I had not thought of Mr. Geiger nor his son, with whom I had some youthful over clothes frottage the summer before he moved away, in years. I had never given any conscious sexual thoughts to Mr Geiger until last night. The beat of the flip flops was enough to bring back details and vivid recollections and unrealized desires and frustrations. The beat of those shoes unearthed more than a half century of repressed feeling and judging my the explosive nature of my response, these were desires that needed to erupt. I am pleased to say that it was the best eruption I have had in quite some time.

 

So fellow curmudgeons, have you noted some noises that bring out unexpected reactions? Are there any Mr. Geigers out there in your life? So while Boots may be made for walking, are flip flops made for jerking?

 

It was pretty quickly suppressed by me, but in reflecting on my past, a very early sign of my inclinations was sparked by the father of one of my older brother's friends, and then by the friend himself. We used to swim at the pool at Naval base my father was assigned to, and when I was pretty little my brother had a friend named Mitch. His dad was a young officer, and he used to rough-house with us in the pool. I liked him-- a lot, although I couldn't have said why. He was athletic and had the deepest voice I'd ever heard. And I got so I "liked" Mitch, too, who looked exactly like him in miniature. Nothing about my liking them involved fantasizing about them that I can remember, and as I started actively tamping down such thoughts I think I avoided thinking about them at all. Hmm, I wonder where they are now?

[+ purplekow]

PK, you have become our resident William Faulkner. Thank you for sharing your myriad talents with us again.

Have you considered maybe doing a piece for Selected Shorts on NPR? (No eye-rolling at "doing a piece" please)

 

Phil, thank you but you are crazy.

[+ purplekow]

It was pretty quickly suppressed by me, but in reflecting on my past, a very early sign of my inclinations was sparked by the father of one of my older brother's friends, and then by the friend himself. We used to swim at the pool at Naval base my father was assigned to, and when I was pretty little my brother had a friend named Mitch. His dad was a young officer, and he used to rough-house with us in the pool. I liked him-- a lot, although I couldn't have said why. He was athletic and had the deepest voice I'd ever heard. And I got so I "liked" Mitch, too, who looked exactly like him in miniature. Nothing about my liking them involved fantasizing about them that I can remember, and as I started actively tamping down such thoughts I think I avoided thinking about them at all. Hmm, I wonder where they are now?

 

Google search is a wonderful thing in about 15 minutes, you can have more information than you actually need.

 

In keeping with that, I looked up the Geigers about one year ago. The first definite hit was the obituary of the senior Mr. Geiger, who, as fate would have it, had died only days before my search. I considered writing something on his obituary page, but what could I say? "As a pubescent teen I had a repressed crush on him and only recently have I dealt with it by masturbating to the reimagined sound of his flip flops." Hardly a legacy that would bring solace to the family of an octogenarian. His son, who on a nightly basis for one summer, I pinned to a basement wall and rubbed myself into until I came in pants, lives in San Diego, which was their destination when they left NYC all those years ago.

[+ WilliamM]

As it turns out, in the senior follies in my medical school graduation, I sang a parody of Kids though I was playing Ralph Kramden of the Honeymooners. My one shining moment on the stage.

 

Interesting. I played Ed Norton of the Honeymooners in a much longer parody. Like you, it was a once in a lifetime moment. When I went back to visit the teacher who suggested the subject, she remembered my Ed Norton bits which happened almost fifty years ago.

 

To be honest, I asked one of my cousins to visit her first, so I aware that she remembered me...but one can not be sure with someone in their mid-80s.

[BasketBaller]

Google search is a wonderful thing in about 15 minutes, you can have more information than you actually need.

 

In keeping with that, I looked up the Geigers about one year ago. The first definite hit was the obituary of the senior Mr. Geiger, who, as fate would have it, had died only days before my search. I considered writing something on his obituary page, but what could I say? "As a pubescent teen I had a repressed crush on him and only recently have I dealt with it by masturbating to the reimagined sound of his flip flops." Hardly a legacy that would bring solace to the family of an octogenarian. His son, who on a nightly basis for one summer, I pinned to a basement wall and rubbed myself into until I came in pants, lives in San Diego, which was their destination when they left NYC all those years ago.

I hadn't thought about them in years, until I read your post about Mr. Geiger. I just googled them, and not only found them but found recent pictures! The dad looks different (he gained weight at some point) but Mitch looks damn good, and exactly the way I remember his father looking back then.

[+ purplekow]

I hadn't thought about them in years, until I read your post about Mr. Geiger. I just googled them, and not only found them but found recent pictures! The dad looks different (he gained weight at some point) but Mitch looks damn good, and exactly the way I remember his father looking back then.

Well consider dropping a friend request on Facebook... You never can tell, you may yet satisfy your Mitch itch.

[+ purplekow]

The porno musical of The Wizard of Aaaaahs Based on a possibly true story.

 

Song #1 Bballer has an itch (Song to The House began to twitch)

 

Bballer begam to twitch because of an itch

To relive in middle years an itch he had for Mitch

Which, was quite the social sitch-uation cause Mitch might reject his pitch.

 

Will Mitch give him some head? or reject his bed?

Middle aged Mitch might like to switch

But will Mitch give him head

Or is the bitch into kink of another niche.

 

Some may find this rich, or expect some hitch

But these guys could wind up down and dirty in the middle of a ditch

Which is just the sitch uation that could sate this mid life itch

 

Or This: Song #2

 

Big Donged Mitch Gives Head (Song to Ding Dong the Witch is Dead)

 

Big Donged, Mitch gives head, Which old Mitch?

Big Donged Mitch

That's right Big Donged Mitch gives head

Get up without any dread, Get it hard, get him into bed

Get it up Big Donged Mitch likes head

 

He goes where the gobblers go, Below, below, licks it fast, licks it slow

Just open up and wring your balls out

 

Big Donged and a merry "O" screaming high, screaming low so we all know

Good Old Mitch gives head

 

 

Repeat

[BasketBaller]

The porno musical of The Wizard of Aaaaahs Based on a possibly true story.

 

Song #1 Bballer has an itch (Song to The House began to twitch)

 

Bballer begam to twitch because of an itch

To relive in middle years an itch he had for Mitch

Which, was quite the social sitch-uation cause Mitch might reject his pitch.

 

Will Mitch give him some head? or reject his bed?

Middle aged Mitch might like to switch

But will Mitch give him head

Or is the bitch into kink of another niche.

 

Some may find this rich, or expect some hitch

But these guys could wind up down and dirty in the middle of a ditch

Which is just the sitch uation that could sate this mid life itch

 

Or This: Song #2

 

Big Donged Mitch Gives Head (Song to Ding Dong the Witch is Dead)

 

Big Donged, Mitch gives head, Which old Mitch?

Big Donged Mitch

That's right Big Donged Mitch gives head

Get up without any dread, Get it hard, get him into bed

Get it up Big Donged Mitch likes head

 

He goes where the gobblers go, Below, below, licks it fast, licks it slow

Just open up and wring your balls out

 

Big Donged and a merry "O" screaming high, screaming low so we all know

Good Old Mitch gives head

 

 

Repeat

Bravo!

 

Rub, rub here, thrust, thrust there

Whether you're effect or cause

It's fun to be either bi or gay

In the merry old land of Aaaahs!

[+ purplekow]

Bravo!

 

Rub, rub here, thrust, thrust there

Whether you're effect or cause

It's fun to be either bi or gay

In the merry old land of Aaaahs!

Guess there are more than a few friends of Dorothy here

[+ purplekow]

In my real life, the one in which I share a parallel existence with Purplekow who lives here, I awoke feeling better than usual. My knees did not hurt, my breath was slow and easy, my heart was not racing. It was 7:10 AM and I got out of bed and let the dogs out. I was not particularly tired, but I had only slept for 3 hours, so I decided to lay back down and rest a bit more before facing the day.

 

My mind began to wander and a cavalcade of thoughts paraded through my brain. This happens to me often, that when I am not thinking of one thing in particular, I wind up thinking of almost everything. These random thoughts, these snippets of a life that a younger me led, or a braver me might have led, or a smarter me would have led, pass through, barely reaching consciousness and then are gone back to from whence they came. Was that younger me, really me? Was that braver me ever there? Is that smarter me living that better life somewhere else?

 

Well among those random thoughts by the older me, by the more circumspect me, by the less witty andby less considered me, was the decision that it was time to write my obituary. This is not a thought I have every day. In this sensate reality, I have never had that thought before, but it was clear to me that in the life I lead in the tangible world, there was no one to write that obituary for me. It is not that I am anticipating a need for it any time soon, but did I really want my good bye to the world, my bon voyage speech from the deck of the ship taking me on my final voyage, to be a perfunctory delineation of the facts and figures of my life, written by someone who knew only what I chose to show them?

 

At this point in my life, I have become such a compartmentalization of a person, that most of the people in my life have little connection to one another. Most of my friends are unknown to my other friends. I am not part of a social group, rather I have a series of monogamous friendships. My high school friend, does not know the name of the wife of my college friend. My work friend has never met my related friend. My New York friend, has never had a meal with my Rhode Island friend. My straight friends probably do not even know of the existence of my gay friends. These people, here in my life, in the tangible world, are kept cordoned off from one another by an invisible velvet rope of time, circumstance and convenience. Once in a while, the faux brass eye hook is unloosened from its mooring and one member is escorted, ever so carefully into another section for a short period of time. It is clear to the visitor who has been given a pass to a different section of my life that they are really just a interloper there, much like a radio listener who has won a backstage pass at a Beyonce concert knows that she is not being invited to the baptism of the twins. As such, there is no one to speak of me or for me. Their is no one knows as much of me as they possibly could. No one to truly mourn or memorialize,

 

 

And then there is this world, here on line. Such is the compartmentalization of my life, that I have here a mostly independent world, where even I do not exist and where the computerized me knows only the etherealization of the imaginings of other body sharers, sitting connectedly disconnected from the real world at a laptop on a plane, or at desktop in a kitchen nook, or on a handheld phone while sitting silently as a passenger as their spouse drives them toward vacation from their every day tangible world to their once a year tangible world.

 

What is most interesting about this world, this non-existent existence, is that the other walls, the other compartments do not exist. There is a freedom of movement in this existence which is only bound by the inability to move to the tangible easily. Once in the tangible, those walls reemerge, those compartments reform, those features which in this world hold little sway, become tangible as well. Sure, one can travel from this world to the tangible world but one does so at one's own peril. Part of one's identity in the tangible world is physical presence and the judgments and biases that come with one's unique presentation of self. Moreover, once there is tangible identity, the ethereal identity is forever changed. The ability to camouflage, to be chameleon at the change of seasons is forever altered. One's ability to change is forever changed.

 

So, I would like to thank PK for lifting the velvet rope to allow me entrance here. I will be heading back and I will be organizing the thoughts for my obituary. I have found the idea of my obituary exhilarating, which is contrary to what I would have expected. I believe it will allow me, in a few short paragraphs, to bid a heartfelt fare thee well to the earthly bounds, much as PK escapes earthly bounds when he comes here. So from the tangible world, I want to give you thanks for listening, because I do not think I could have mentioned this to anyone in the world in which I live.

[BasketBaller]

In my real life, the one in which I share a parallel existence with Purplekow who lives here, I awoke feeling better than usual. My knees did not hurt, my breath was slow and easy, my heart was not racing. It was 7:10 AM and I got out of bed and let the dogs out. I was not particularly tired, but I had only slept for 3 hours, so I decided to lay back down and rest a bit more before facing the day.

 

My mind began to wander and a cavalcade of thoughts paraded through my brain. This happens to me often, that when I am not thinking of one thing in particular, I wind up thinking of almost everything. These random thoughts, these snippets of a life that a younger me led, or a braver me might have led, or a smarter me would have led, pass through, barely reaching consciousness and then are gone back to from whence they came. Was that younger me, really me? Was that braver me ever there? Is that smarter me living that better life somewhere else?

 

Well among those random thoughts by the older me, by the more circumspect me, by the less witty andby less considered me, was the decision that it was time to write my obituary. This is not a thought I have every day. In this sensate reality, I have never had that thought before, but it was clear to me that in the life I lead in the tangible world, there was no one to write that obituary for me. It is not that I am anticipating a need for it any time soon, but did I really want my good bye to the world, my bon voyage speech from the deck of the ship taking me on my final voyage, to be a perfunctory delineation of the facts and figures of my life, written by someone who knew only what I chose to show them?

 

At this point in my life, I have become such a compartmentalization of a person, that most of the people in my life have little connection to one another. Most of my friends are unknown to my other friends. I am not part of a social group, rather I have a series of monogamous friendships. My high school friend, does not know the name of the wife of my college friend. My work friend has never met my related friend. My New York friend, has never had a meal with my Rhode Island friend. My straight friends probably do not even know of the existence of my gay friends. These people, here in my life, in the tangible world, are kept cordoned off from one another by an invisible velvet rope of time, circumstance and convenience. Once in a while, the faux brass eye hook is unloosened from its mooring and one member is escorted, ever so carefully into another section for a short period of time. It is clear to the visitor who has been given a pass to a different section of my life that they are really just a interloper there, much like a radio listener who has won a backstage pass at a Beyonce concert knows that she is not being invited to the baptism of the twins. As such, there is no one to speak of me or for me. Their is no one knows as much of me as they possibly could. No one to truly mourn or memorialize,

 

 

And then there is this world, here on line. Such is the compartmentalization of my life, that I have here a mostly independent world, where even I do not exist and where the computerized me knows only the etherealization of the imaginings of other body sharers, sitting connectedly disconnected from the real world at a laptop on a plane, or at desktop in a kitchen nook, or on a handheld phone while sitting silently as a passenger as their spouse drives them toward vacation from their every day tangible world to their once a year tangible world.

 

What is most interesting about this world, this non-existent existence, is that the other walls, the other compartments do not exist. There is a freedom of movement in this existence which is only bound by the inability to move to the tangible easily. Once in the tangible, those walls reemerge, those compartments reform, those features which in this world hold little sway, become tangible as well. Sure, one can travel from this world to the tangible world but one does so at one's own peril. Part of one's identity in the tangible world is physical presence and the judgments and biases that come with one's unique presentation of self. Moreover, once there is tangible identity, the ethereal identity is forever changed. The ability to camouflage, to be chameleon at the change of seasons is forever altered. One's ability to change is forever changed.

 

So, I would like to thank PK for lifting the velvet rope to allow me entrance here. I will be heading back and I will be organizing the thoughts for my obituary. I have found the idea of my obituary exhilarating, which is contrary to what I would have expected. I believe it will allow me, in a few short paragraphs, to bid a heartfelt fare thee well to the earthly bounds, much as PK escapes earthly bounds when he comes here. So from the tangible world, I want to give you thanks for listening, because I do not think I could have mentioned this to anyone in the world in which I live.

 

Very profound. My analog life is not quite so compartmentalized, but my digital self lives in more than one world. The persona that lives here among yours says things, and maybe even thinks things, that I've never said or thought anywhere else. You all know things about me no one else does, without knowing my quotidian self at all. I wonder if BasketBaller is more honest than the man who uses my given name-- he's certainly more open.

[+ purplekow]

Very profound. My analog life is not quite so compartmentalized, but my digital self lives in more than one world. The persona that lives here among yours says things, and maybe even thinks things, that I've never said or thought anywhere else. You all know things about me no one else does, without knowing my quotidian self at all. I wonder if BasketBaller is more honest than the man who uses my given name-- he's certainly more open.

 

When I started writing today, I intended to make just that point. One can be more honest here because of the lack of boundaries except for the obvious one between on line and on earth. In the tactile world, there are so many things upon which it are not safe to touch. There are repercussions of an ongoing and possibly hurtful nature that one dares not risk encountering. There are clearly declared borders one does not cross, walls one does not climb.

Now there may be some that doubt the existence of these borders, these walls. There are those that believe they live in a let the world be damned manner, but yet they are deeply tied to social convention and reasonable human behavior. There are constrains even the most cavalier and unfeeling do not shed. This concern for self and others leads us to be less than honest rather than more honest in our interactions with others. White lies, social graces, tact are all accepted and expected but they are not purely honest. So I agree with your contention that here, in this place which does not exist, you are able to be more honest and more yourself.

[+ honcho]

I believe it will allow me, in a few short paragraphs, to bid a heartfelt fare thee well to the earthly bounds, much as PK escapes earthly bounds when he comes here. So from the tangible world, I want to give you thanks for listening, because I do not think I could have mentioned this to anyone in the world in which I live.

 

I'm honored that you would share it with us. And I sincerely, and most heartfeltedly hope it is a future obituary and not a suicide note that you're writing . . .

 

(the other) Keith

[+ purplekow]

I'm honored that you would share it with us. And I sincerely, and most heartfeltedly hope it is a future obituary and not a suicide note that you're writing . . .

 

(the other) Keith

No I have a few appointments with some of my favorites scheduled, so now would not be a convenient time for anything so rash.