Winding, Crooked Trails

 

icked Wednesday

 

The bottoms of her feet are soft and cool and flat against my chest, deep red tipped toes, knees together, shin bones shiny smooth shaven, ankles thin and finger thumb circled, held in place, flat, against my chest while I move into, out of, her, back into, almost out of, deeper in.  I love her open but I adore her closed, tight and gripping and mine and all here, right here, the backs of her thighs smoothest of all and impossible not to touch, sliding my hands from her ankles, palms flat, fingers stretched,  moving, to where we are just one, just us.  And then her hands are there too, with mine, there, ten fingers on ten fingers, her palms on the backs of my hands moving with mine and I tell her, let's touch where we fuck, let's feel it, spidery fingers touching, grasping, slick smeared to fuck through.  Hold my hands fuck me she says, I do, and you can hold it and feel it, don't let anyone tell you that you can't, you can urge and probe, grab and clutch and coax, where you fuck, you can, finger and stroke and touch all that you feel, feel all that you touch.  Do it she says, do it, fuck me, our hands, mine, yours, us, do it.

And I do, I do, into her hands, into her.

 

 

Things that stick to the roof of your mouth

Poor girl in Canada died from being kissed by a guy who had just eaten a peanut butter cup.  She was allergic to peanuts, damn, how freaky is that? 

A survey of over 50,000 teens revealed that 55% of boys and 54% of girls have had oral sex.  Girl would probably have survived if he'd just eaten her butter cup.  How the hell do you get allergic to peanuts?  Death by PBJ, who knew?

So 55% and 54%.  How do you suppose that breaks down.  It's not enough information for me, I want details.  Such a study deserves more than just lip service.  I need to see it in writing and not just spread by word of mouth. Have these kids in the goin down percentile been both the lickor and the lickee?  Or suckor and suckee?  Shouldn't there be separate categories?  I want to know how many have only enjoyed the fruits of another's labor and not orally partaken themselves.  These kids need special sexual counseling as they are destined to become selfish lovers and doomed to disappoint future partners.  And those who unselfishly take the dive but are never on the receiving end are destined to a sex life that....well.....just sucks.

I just may create an oral sex meme, hey, it could be both fun and informative and you know how I'm all about assisting those less sexually abled than I.  I attribute my prowess to acquiring my sex education when sex was dirty, like it's supposed to be.  A clean, healthy attitude toward the act may help prevent disease and promote emotional health and well being but I say there aint nothin' like down, nasty and dirty for satisfaction that is both multi orgasmic and screamworthy.  Hair pulling, scratching, howling, dirty talk sex.....like that.  Oh baby, do it, fuck me til you love me.

But, I wouldn't use me as your example.      

I do feel bad and I meant no disrespect to the poor girl.  May she rest in reese's piece.

I remember a time a little less tame

I keep fear in a velvet lined jewelry case in my sock drawer covered with silk boxers, old photos, and receipts from last Christmas.
I  used to keep it in a banker's box in my walk in closet but it fits into a much smaller container now and I like it better out of sight.  Every so often I would go through it like a kitchen junk drawer and toss those things that no longer instilled fear.

Like failure, that was one of the first to go.  Fuckabuncha failure, I aint scared of that anymore.  I've succeeded in everything I ever failed at so it made no sense to keep that one, especially since it took up so much space.  The banker's box, shit, had those round tabs with the string you wrapped and wrapped to keep it closed but it would get kicked while I was stumbling around looking for my other black shoe and scary crap would spill out and get on my clothes so it just made sense to divest myself of the low end fear factors so I could put the rest away, out of sight, out of mind, in the sock drawer, under the silk boxers and old photos and receipts from last Christmas.

I know it's there but I almost never see it, sometimes I forget about it for days at a time.  All the bad stuff is there, the stuff that will sit me up in bed  in the middle of the night, the shit I can't shake and that I can't set out at the curb for pick up on trash day.

Only a couple are for me, the rest are for those I love.   You don't get anywhere near selfless until your greatest fears aren't about you.

I keep anger in a cigar box in my nightstand under some paperback books and an old Esquire magazine with a really hot picture of Sharon Stone.

I used to keep it out in the garage in the box the lawn mower came in until I went  through it like a kitchen junk drawer and tossed those things that no longer made me angry.  It just made sense to divest myself of the low end anger factors so I could put the rest away, out of sight, out of mind, in a cigar box in my nightstand under some paperback books and an old Esquire magazine with a really hot picture of Sharon Stone.



   

Back Home Again

I'm back, five hours late, jetlagged and slightly irritated at seeing the top of my hot tub blown off, leaves floating and the water temperature at 51 degrees F.  Could be worse I suppose, could be ice.  The heater doesn't seem to be working now but hey, we'll just have to see.  It's fixable.  Not everything is so fuck it.

Really good trip all in all, a bit of a roller coaster but then what isn't?  Two days in Yosemite National Park was magical, wonderful, breathtaking.  The grandeur, the setting, the company, the weather and the experience were all splendid as splendid can be.  It's a beautiful wild place, vast and spiritual.  The giant Sequoias are incredible, massive and stately and awe inspiring.  Soaring hundreds of feet in a needled and coned ancient grove.  Over two thousand years old, two freakin' thousand, some close to three.  Resistant to fire, insects and disease like you'd want to be if you were going to live for three thousand years. 

A beautiful time in a beautiful place.

Vegas was Vegas, it always is.  Life at my father's is full of stress and illness, it sucks for him.  He's 80 and has to take care of everyone else, my step mother has to fight for each breath and is on oxygen every minute of her life, essentially housebound.  My father's mother in law lives with them, holy shit, you'd think by 80 you'd be out of the mother in law business. but no.  I can crawl faster than she can walk and her head is air filled and empty otherwise.  There is also a yippy pomeranian puppy.    There you go.  Yeah, that makes for a soothing environment.   But it's his life and he chose it and his strong sense of duty will see him through whatever he needs to do.  It's just too bad given that he is sharp, strong, able and healthy and unable to live fully.

I only went to the strip once, friday, and cruised five or six casinos, window and people shopped the great variety of both.  The  Venetian, Bellagio, Caesar's, the new Wynn's, all have incredible shops, beautiful, expensive stuff.  The people?  They range from beautiful and expensive to not so much of either.  From the ridiculous to the sublime.  Cool thing about being by yourself is you can slither.  I'm quite the accomplished slitherer, weaver and bobber.

The contrast from the vast, open, quiet splendor to the harried and people packed playground was startling and unsettling.  I found myself longing for the winding roads and soaring trees and walls of granite and the 100 year old cottage with no phone, no TV, and just the right size for intimacy and warmth.  Just cool enough to make you hurry back under the ample covers.  So quiet you could hear a kiss.  Falling water and rushing mountain streams and rivers and skies as blue as your soul can get from longing to live two thousand years.

I thought a lot about life and death this past week, fragility and strength, comings and goings and I thought about the times I've heard someone say, "I wouldn't want to live that long". 

I do, I want two thousand years, three thousand, and I want to be resistant to fire and disease and insects and I want to stand tall in my grove in the quiet with open limbs to embrace and survey all of my domain and  watch over all that melts and grows, sprouts and wilts, all that blooms and is doomed, all that comes and goes, comes and goes.

HNT

Beer and Clothing in Las Vegas

Or....Go West Young Man

I know, the title will either make no sense whatsover to you or you will find it indicative of my oft misunderstood black humor, actually it's more of a purple or some black/purplish bruise color humor.

I'm taking this show on the road next week, it's about time I get outta Dodge don't you think?  Christ, I've taken less vacation this year than any of the last twenty.  All work and no play dulls the Edge.  Las Vegas is where my parents are and is where I will be spending my very non traditional Thanksgiving.  I'm not a Vegas person, not being a gambler (except in life and love) and not being particularly fond of plastic formed showgirls or washed up and out singers, comedians, and magicians and the like.  The people watching is fantastic though and I'll spend some time wandering, ambling, oogling and slithering through the crowds.   

My "tradional" Thanksgiving the past few years has taken me to X1's house because that's where my daughters go and the X and I have been so over for so long we never consider fucking or fighting and it all goes pretty well. 

But hark, alas, I am off and who knows, I may find an adventure or two, I have a nose and an inclination for that.  I love adventures, mine and yours, but probably mine more.

This Treo 650 is a quirky bitch, sometimes accepting emails, sometimes not.  It takes breaks like it's a union phone.  I usually don't respond to emails on it because it occasionally errors and spams the recipiant with dozens of emails. I aint kidding, it does.  The test messaging seems to work though and it seems most emails come through eventually if you feel the urge to confess any sins or hidden desires or to just wish me well in life. 

I was asked recently, hey Edge, where did the title Winding, Crooked Trails come from?  Well, I'm glad you asked.  It is from a somewhat rambling benedicto by Edward Abbey, one of my all time favorite authors.....he's mean, irascible, curmudgeonly, and incorrigible a la me.  It goes like this:

"May your trails be crooked, winding, lonesome, dangerous, leading to the most amazing view. May your mountains rise into and above the clouds. May your rivers flow without end, meandering through pastoral valleys tinkling with bells, past temples and castles and poets towers into a dark primeval forest where tigers belch and monkeys howl, through miasmal and mysterious swamps and down into a desert of red rock, blue mesas, domes and pinnacles and grottos of endless stone, and down again into a deep vast ancient unknown chasm where bars of sunlight blaze on profiled cliffs, where deer walk across the white sand beaches, where storms come and go as lightning clangs upon the high crags, where something strange and more beautiful and more full of wonder than your deepest dreams waits for you --- beyond that next turning of the canyon walls."

I originally planned on Crooked, Winding Trails but it just didn't have the ring I was looking for so I took the liberty to switch the words and the rest is history.

There you have it. 

And here I go.  See you in about a week.  Be good or be really bad.

God, I just saw that picture down there.  Have I no shame?  It would appear not.   

HNT

Sorry, a pic from this summer.    I wasn't in a self photographing mood and I always know when I'm faking it with myself.  I can't put anything by me.

Happy Earth Day baby

H

It's Wicked Wednesday again.

She sat in the window towell wrapped, hair up with a few stray tendrils wispy on her neck, skin  lotioned to a velvet matte sheen like the good stuff does.  Watching the day fade, fingers and toes red tipped, head back against the casing, knees drawn up, feet flat on the sill.  She saw him in the window just across the courtyard before he realized she was there and you can will someone to feel you watching if your stare is focused and has intent.  When he finally felt her gaze he turned first his head and then his body toward her and stopped dividing his attention.  There was distance but it diminished  as his gaze grew more intense.  Her expression didn't change, she was languid and relaxed yet sexually taut, keenly aware of her appeal.  Towell not quite covered woman in a window showcased and displayed, framed beauty.  There were no lights on in the room.  She wanted the geometric patterns of the shadows to play across the floor, the bed, her body.  As her chest rose and fell with deeper breaths the knot loosened ever so slowly and the towell slipped, slipped at about the same pace the sun was setting.  One of those last bursts of beamed light that the sun does just before it kisses the horizon colored her a shade of soft gold and flashed highlights in her hair and  made her skin even more luminous and luscious.  The shadows fell across her face, then to her neck, and he bent at the waist to get closer to the window thinking the extra few inches would keep her in his sight longer.  The towell fell just ahead of the shadows allowing the sun and his eyes access to the top of her breasts, then her nipples, and when it fell from the ledge of her breasts to her belly she could see the gasp his lips formed, even from this distance.  She wasn't so sure but what she didn't hear it.  The white towell was soon bunched at her waist, she had breathed it there.  For the first time her hands moved, to her knees, and slid slowly down her thighs.  Her back arched slowly, slightly and this time the gasp was hers for him to see as her hands reached the dampness at the top of her thighs still sun warmed, not yet in shadow so he could see the fingers splay and rub and rest and rub again.  She pleasured herself to the rhythm of the setting sun, the fading light magically following her, sun falling as she climbed, head still back, lips slack, eyes heavy lidded.  His forehead was leaned against the glass and he knew she was in the last light and he was holding his breaths as if that would freeze the moment.  She clenched against her fingers, shuddered against her hand and dropped her gaze just as the shadows silhouetted her. They remained in the windows until the darkness rendered her invisible and she saw him, backlit, scanning, counting, and she wondered if there would be a knock at her door and if it would go unanswered.

Nothing to sneeze at

Where did that saying come from?  What would make you sneeze at something?  What did you do when the bear attacked?  I sneezed at it.  Damn, that was nothing to sneeze at. 

Who cares, anyway, I sneezed this morning and it felt really good.  Why does it feel good to sneeze?  I swear sometimes it's like this tiny little orgasm.  It doesn't feel good to cough but a sneeze can be quite pleasurable, especially those multiple sneezes which are far more common than multiple orgasms.  Back in the day, when my hair was long and my memory was not, we'd get these little tins of snuff that you could buy at the head shop and get goofy fuck stoned and snort up a sneezing fit.  You ever sneeze ten times stoned?  Woot.

Deciding that the subject merited further research I consulted wikipedia and here ya go:

A sneeze is the semi-autonomous, convulsive expulsion of air from the nose and mouth. An unimpeded sneeze sends two to five thousand bacteria-filled droplets into the air. The medical name for sneezing is sternutation.

Sneezing is generally caused by irritation in the passages of the nose. Pollens, house dust, and other particles are usually harmless, but when they irritate the nose the body responds by expelling them from the nasal passages. The nose mistakes strong odors, sudden chills, bright lights (see photic sneeze reflex), and even orgasms in some people for nasal irritants, and it tries to defend itself with a sneeze.

It is almost impossible for a person to keep their eyelids open during a sneeze. The reflex of shutting the eyes serves no obvious purpose: the nerves serving the eyes and the nose are closely related, and stimuli to the one often trigger some response in the other.

Stop!......the nose can mistake an orgasm for a nasal irritant??  How can that be?  I didn't smell you cumming?  What if I was going down on you and just as you came I sneezed because I mistook your orgasm for a nasal irritant?  That could be pretty exciting for both of us, huh?    I'ma call it cunnisternutation and patent the process. 

What I really aspire to, now that I'm so deep into the subject, is to sneeze and cum at the same time and all the while, keep my eyes open, cause it says it's only "nearly" impossible to do.  I love the idea of two convulsive expulsions at once.   

Go on, try not to visualize that.

Monday, Monday

I wonder sometimes if being emotionally able is a blessing or a curse.  While a dog can be sad and yappy happy, a horse can rear, and several other species can exhibit aggressive and downright mean appearing behavior, such acts of aggression are generally aimed at obtaining lunch or dinner and mood has very little if anything to do with it.   I would love to know just exactly what the range of emotions are for various members of the animal kingdom.  We humans choose what pieces of ourselves to present to those we love, hate, or couldn't  give less of a shit about on a daily basis usually built around the frame of mind de jour. 

What would it be like to have the emotional capabilities of a goldfish?  Or a robin or an elephant?  Other than pangs of hunger for whatever that crap is you sprinkle in the bowl, or disgust because you haven't changed the water in weeks and he's sick of swimming around in scum, you think a goldfish ever has a particularly good or bad day?   Does he think about being lonely and long for another carnival so you can win a mate for him?   What if you did and it was a member of the opposite sex, would he need to find her physically attractive before he rubbed fins with her?  I mean, she is the only game in town, would he reject her if she just didn't do it for him.  Or vice versa, would she tell him to pound sand if all he did was eat and lay around one of those little houses they put in the bottom of the bowl?

How about when a dog gets fat.   Does she ever feel self conscious about the broadening of her ass and push the bowl away?  It would seem not.  Other than the rituals of mate selection, I'm not sure animials base their decisions on whether to couple of not on their proposed mate's behavior.  You didn't bring that first worm home to the kids today, no spreading my feathers for you tonight.  You picked up several pounds from feeding on that deer carcass and you'll not mount me again until you shape up.  Doesn't appear to work that way but I could be wrong.

I, and many of you I'm sure, spend considerable time and effort gauging, predicting, assessing, and assimilating the moods and general frames of mind of those with whom we choose or are forced to interact.  And I'm sure those around me do the same, wondering if it would be a good day to avoid me or a day to tease me into a frenzy and reap the rewards of my sexual prowess.

I don't know, I may be wrong, maybe an elephant frets about it's wrinkles, maybe a rabbit bitches and moans about dragging his fluffy bunny tail through the snow all winter, maybe that tiger just got sick of Roy's constant homodomming and decided enough, I'ma eat the fuckers neck....I just don't know for sure.

But it would seem that the animal kingdom is far less concerned  with the emotional aspect of their being than they are about how to feed themselves and the kids, fix up the den or the nest, stay the fuck alive and occasionally sate themselves sexually. 

Kind of like us without moodswings.

Hey, it's Monday and I'm in a mood, cut me some slack on this post, ok?

The photo?  It's moody and so's the post, don't  tell me it doesn't all tie together.