As you all know 'So...Yeah' was started as an outlet for my creative flow with my dating woes as the backdrop. So far everything has gone well, but something is amiss. Perhaps it is time to change gears and explore other topics on which to muse. 'But no!!!' I can hear it now from all of my devoted fans, but fear not, 'So...Yeah' won't give up the dating genre entirely. It is just time to let everyone know that tales of tails is not my only suit. Luckily as managing editor of 'So...Yeah' I am free to direct this blog in anyway I see fit.
So in the future when you return and read stories that are unrelated to the women that I love, have loved, or just hooked up with, please do not despair. Those stories will return. For now look at it as a new day, a day where unrelated accounts, musings, and rants (etc.) can appear together like parents of a divorced child at a birthday party.
That is all,
42
Saturday 30 June 2007
Someone Else I Know
The virtuosity of patience loses ground to the forces which hold it in contempt with every passing minute. The pride in this man will not see fit to remain in check. As you wallow in your self pity my pride paces the cage, tongue bitten,eyes trained, studying, waiting.
The time has come and passed for you to step up. When I think about you I resolve that you do not stand as a man. The civility of men protects all, that by our nature, we seek to destroy. Your chosen course of action will lead my civility to unlock the cage and unleash the animal of my pride. The uneven instep of my boot will search for steady footing on the back of your neck.
On what you hold close, keep a watchful eye. Prepare your walls for defense. The guards of my cage door grow weary of their responsibility with each passing day. They hear the whispering siren song of my dignity and soon they will fall powerless, unable to remain idly by holding back the fury of my pride.
Biding my time,
42
The time has come and passed for you to step up. When I think about you I resolve that you do not stand as a man. The civility of men protects all, that by our nature, we seek to destroy. Your chosen course of action will lead my civility to unlock the cage and unleash the animal of my pride. The uneven instep of my boot will search for steady footing on the back of your neck.
On what you hold close, keep a watchful eye. Prepare your walls for defense. The guards of my cage door grow weary of their responsibility with each passing day. They hear the whispering siren song of my dignity and soon they will fall powerless, unable to remain idly by holding back the fury of my pride.
Biding my time,
42
Friday 22 June 2007
Some People I Know
Time to update my blog on the SoT, if not for the release of my creative flow then for the three of the millions of fans of 'So...Yeah' who have commented on the lack of an update. Without further ado:
Back when I was in the CIA we used to have a roster called the Non-Official Cover list, or NOC list. If you don't know what the NOC list is, look it up. I am not here to educate you on the 'ins and outs' of international espionage. My time with the agency was short but effective and at this point I am not at liberty to discuss any of the missions or operations in which my service was integral. So for now, I cannot share with you in part or whole about Operation Moldy Havarti nor the fallout from any of the closed door Senate Hearings.
Now that I am out of the Agency, I will share with you a different list. This list is comprised of individuals that I either play, played or would like to play FPT, or Fun Part Touching.
Sleepy Waitress:
From the first time I saw you in the library I was in awe, you were a vision. Despite my best intentions, all of the wrong cards were played and I watched myself slip into the 'friend zone.' I am going to borrow from Omar and say, "We could'a made a baby." Oh, they would have been such beautiful babies and this comes from someone that fears the little walking bacteria fraps.
Butterfly:
The hippy chick, so unbelievably beautiful. A few years younger. That trick you can do, how does it get that tight? Despite your free and fancy spirit of hippy youth, no patchouli (sp), your scent is morning dew sweet. So incredibly tiny, you could make a guy with even the biggest Asian fetish looked beyond your long blond locks. Not to say you have the body of a twelve year old boy, but it is certainly small, slender and oh so sexy.
{FPT cover omitted}:
Too many fans of 'So...Yeah' could decipher your identity should I disclose too much. While this list is not presented in any order or ranking, you definitely rank high on any list. Passion is not an issue with this asset and for that matter neither are assets. You certainly do not have the body of a twelve year old boy, you are all woman and I have enjoyed every line and curve of your form. We knew each other for a year and then we met on a Saturday in a foreign country. You stated a price, I countered. In the long run I got it for free. In a heartbeat. Like I said, we met on a Saturday, the best day of the week.
Dogbird:
A kiss. One solitary kiss over a monumental sky and you got me. Something is different here, can't pinpoint it. You aren't like the one I left in the morning nor like the two on my answering machine, something is definitely different. What is it? I am still trying to figure it out. Is it the left coast roots? The Zimmerman helps me by saying, "You're going to make me give myself a good talkin' to."
Coffee Bean:
Such a naughty little temptress. When we met you worked in a coffee store and this was well before people eagerly laid down small fortunes for a venti, double caff, mocha, latte ichi-ichi ya-ya-ya-ya. So much I could share, but like us, I will exercise restraints. As it would happen, things didn't work out. You see, you are a little off. Perhaps that is why I think you were my very first stalker ever. I don't mean to belittle either stalking or victims of stalking but in the end isn't nice to know that someone cares about you so much that they will wait outside your house across the street in the rain just for a glimpse of you and then leave a note threatening you and that 'little whore you've been fucking'? Doesn't it just show you they care?
Please note that this is only a partial list of FPT assets, there are more. See below:
Quiesenberry
The Vulcan
Punkin
The Romantic's Daughter
Vanessa
Short Change
Not Bronte's Sister
Kappa Kappa Gamma - Yes, one time I sneaked over the walls guarding the Ivory Tower.
Gee
Tryst
Non, Je ne regrette rien,
42
Back when I was in the CIA we used to have a roster called the Non-Official Cover list, or NOC list. If you don't know what the NOC list is, look it up. I am not here to educate you on the 'ins and outs' of international espionage. My time with the agency was short but effective and at this point I am not at liberty to discuss any of the missions or operations in which my service was integral. So for now, I cannot share with you in part or whole about Operation Moldy Havarti nor the fallout from any of the closed door Senate Hearings.
Now that I am out of the Agency, I will share with you a different list. This list is comprised of individuals that I either play, played or would like to play FPT, or Fun Part Touching.
Sleepy Waitress:
From the first time I saw you in the library I was in awe, you were a vision. Despite my best intentions, all of the wrong cards were played and I watched myself slip into the 'friend zone.' I am going to borrow from Omar and say, "We could'a made a baby." Oh, they would have been such beautiful babies and this comes from someone that fears the little walking bacteria fraps.
Butterfly:
The hippy chick, so unbelievably beautiful. A few years younger. That trick you can do, how does it get that tight? Despite your free and fancy spirit of hippy youth, no patchouli (sp), your scent is morning dew sweet. So incredibly tiny, you could make a guy with even the biggest Asian fetish looked beyond your long blond locks. Not to say you have the body of a twelve year old boy, but it is certainly small, slender and oh so sexy.
{FPT cover omitted}:
Too many fans of 'So...Yeah' could decipher your identity should I disclose too much. While this list is not presented in any order or ranking, you definitely rank high on any list. Passion is not an issue with this asset and for that matter neither are assets. You certainly do not have the body of a twelve year old boy, you are all woman and I have enjoyed every line and curve of your form. We knew each other for a year and then we met on a Saturday in a foreign country. You stated a price, I countered. In the long run I got it for free. In a heartbeat. Like I said, we met on a Saturday, the best day of the week.
Dogbird:
A kiss. One solitary kiss over a monumental sky and you got me. Something is different here, can't pinpoint it. You aren't like the one I left in the morning nor like the two on my answering machine, something is definitely different. What is it? I am still trying to figure it out. Is it the left coast roots? The Zimmerman helps me by saying, "You're going to make me give myself a good talkin' to."
Coffee Bean:
Such a naughty little temptress. When we met you worked in a coffee store and this was well before people eagerly laid down small fortunes for a venti, double caff, mocha, latte ichi-ichi ya-ya-ya-ya. So much I could share, but like us, I will exercise restraints. As it would happen, things didn't work out. You see, you are a little off. Perhaps that is why I think you were my very first stalker ever. I don't mean to belittle either stalking or victims of stalking but in the end isn't nice to know that someone cares about you so much that they will wait outside your house across the street in the rain just for a glimpse of you and then leave a note threatening you and that 'little whore you've been fucking'? Doesn't it just show you they care?
Please note that this is only a partial list of FPT assets, there are more. See below:
Quiesenberry
The Vulcan
Punkin
The Romantic's Daughter
Vanessa
Short Change
Not Bronte's Sister
Kappa Kappa Gamma - Yes, one time I sneaked over the walls guarding the Ivory Tower.
Gee
Tryst
Non, Je ne regrette rien,
42
Tuesday 19 June 2007
Make it Rain
So I got separated and I am heading toward the inevitable division of assets. Again, not the first and surely not the last, right? After fighting the good one, eventually it was time to throw the hands up and be done with it.
What next? Well after going through the whole "I am never going to find anyone else" woe is me crap, you eventually have to stand up and dust yourself off. All of my friends encouraged me to get back out there and give it a shot. And so I did, I got the courage to ask a girl out. Written below is a partial account of evening details.
*What you are about to read is completely one hundred percent true, I swear.
In the interest of saving time and conserving bandwidth usage on the series of tubes I am going to refrain from sharing how, when, where of meeting this girl. Believe me when I say it is no where near as interesting as how the evening came to a close.
Again, forget the details and just assume the usual dinner, movie, and cocktails, although I feel compelled to share with you that I paid for everything. (Toot! Toot!) During drinks I was definitely getting the 'vibe.' You know the one. The one that tells you, upon arrival at her domicile, clothing may become optional. All of the subtle signs were there, laughing at my jokes and not before the punchlines, brushing her hand against my arm when we shared a commonality, the gentle squeeze on my leg just above the knee when she shoved her tongue down my throat while we made out in the corner of the bar. Oh yeah, the signs were there.
The weather complimented our evening, DC was unseasonably warm this past winter, so we walked backed to her place stopping occasionally for her to pin me against random walls and proceed to make out with me. Thoughts at the time, "Ten years off the market and you've still got it. High five yourself in the morning."
When we got back to her place it became clear that my hunch was correct all along, clothing became optional. As soon as the door was shut behind us, clothes started coming off. Maybe she seemed a little easy, but I wasn't in the position to judge and I really wanted to touch bottom as it had been a few months without any action in that department.
She lead me down the hall and her bedroom was in sight. Not so fast. She stopped, looked me in the eyes and said, "I can't have sex with you." Ok. "It isn't that I don't want to, it is just that I have a boyfriend, well we are on a break right now and I just don't think I am ready to have sex with someone else." My thought at the time, "This really is something that you could have brought up before you brought me back to your place for what I thought was going to be a fun game of the old 'in-out, in-out'." but something in my head told me to keep my mouth shut and to let her do all of the talking. Sorry this, sorry that, I told her it was ok (lie), that I completely understood (another lie) and not to worry about it (yet another lie.)
As I was about to depart, she grabbed me again and started with the kissing, touching and rubbing. The sadistic glutton for punishment in me kicked the level headed angel on my shoulder in the ass and decided, 'We can pull this one out.' Life just isn't that easy.
She pulled away one more time, and I thought to myself, "The sadist wins again! Damnit!" With the most sincere look in her eyes she said, "We aren't going to have sex..." I remained silent. "...but I will get you off if you will do something for me." Oral for oral, I have no problem with that, but again, life is not that easy. She told me that while she had no problem with giving, receiving wasn't in her bag.
What then? What would I have to do to make it all happen for me?
"I will give you a blow job...if...well, I really want you to go on me."
Go? Go on her? What was she talking about?
"I want you to piss on me."
What? A golden shower? All my life I wondered what kind of person likes to be pee'd on, now the mystery was over. Apparently pee bodies look just like you and me, regular folk.
"Hmmm, she wants me to piss on her, " was one thought. Could I do that? Could I jump across that line? I say jump, because that is not really a line that you casually step across. I, in no way, have I ever considered myself a prude but water sports is an entirely different arena. How could I go from the regular missionary, doggy, cowgirl, reverse cowgirl, etc. to what can not be described by anything other than the word 'fetish'?
Now I wish I could tell you that I got up and walked out only to never speak to her again, but I reiterate, life just isn't that easy.
It was an amazing blow job. And well, you know how it is when you drink too many beers.
Am I headed to making number two,
42
What next? Well after going through the whole "I am never going to find anyone else" woe is me crap, you eventually have to stand up and dust yourself off. All of my friends encouraged me to get back out there and give it a shot. And so I did, I got the courage to ask a girl out. Written below is a partial account of evening details.
*What you are about to read is completely one hundred percent true, I swear.
In the interest of saving time and conserving bandwidth usage on the series of tubes I am going to refrain from sharing how, when, where of meeting this girl. Believe me when I say it is no where near as interesting as how the evening came to a close.
Again, forget the details and just assume the usual dinner, movie, and cocktails, although I feel compelled to share with you that I paid for everything. (Toot! Toot!) During drinks I was definitely getting the 'vibe.' You know the one. The one that tells you, upon arrival at her domicile, clothing may become optional. All of the subtle signs were there, laughing at my jokes and not before the punchlines, brushing her hand against my arm when we shared a commonality, the gentle squeeze on my leg just above the knee when she shoved her tongue down my throat while we made out in the corner of the bar. Oh yeah, the signs were there.
The weather complimented our evening, DC was unseasonably warm this past winter, so we walked backed to her place stopping occasionally for her to pin me against random walls and proceed to make out with me. Thoughts at the time, "Ten years off the market and you've still got it. High five yourself in the morning."
When we got back to her place it became clear that my hunch was correct all along, clothing became optional. As soon as the door was shut behind us, clothes started coming off. Maybe she seemed a little easy, but I wasn't in the position to judge and I really wanted to touch bottom as it had been a few months without any action in that department.
She lead me down the hall and her bedroom was in sight. Not so fast. She stopped, looked me in the eyes and said, "I can't have sex with you." Ok. "It isn't that I don't want to, it is just that I have a boyfriend, well we are on a break right now and I just don't think I am ready to have sex with someone else." My thought at the time, "This really is something that you could have brought up before you brought me back to your place for what I thought was going to be a fun game of the old 'in-out, in-out'." but something in my head told me to keep my mouth shut and to let her do all of the talking. Sorry this, sorry that, I told her it was ok (lie), that I completely understood (another lie) and not to worry about it (yet another lie.)
As I was about to depart, she grabbed me again and started with the kissing, touching and rubbing. The sadistic glutton for punishment in me kicked the level headed angel on my shoulder in the ass and decided, 'We can pull this one out.' Life just isn't that easy.
She pulled away one more time, and I thought to myself, "The sadist wins again! Damnit!" With the most sincere look in her eyes she said, "We aren't going to have sex..." I remained silent. "...but I will get you off if you will do something for me." Oral for oral, I have no problem with that, but again, life is not that easy. She told me that while she had no problem with giving, receiving wasn't in her bag.
What then? What would I have to do to make it all happen for me?
"I will give you a blow job...if...well, I really want you to go on me."
Go? Go on her? What was she talking about?
"I want you to piss on me."
What? A golden shower? All my life I wondered what kind of person likes to be pee'd on, now the mystery was over. Apparently pee bodies look just like you and me, regular folk.
"Hmmm, she wants me to piss on her, " was one thought. Could I do that? Could I jump across that line? I say jump, because that is not really a line that you casually step across. I, in no way, have I ever considered myself a prude but water sports is an entirely different arena. How could I go from the regular missionary, doggy, cowgirl, reverse cowgirl, etc. to what can not be described by anything other than the word 'fetish'?
Now I wish I could tell you that I got up and walked out only to never speak to her again, but I reiterate, life just isn't that easy.
It was an amazing blow job. And well, you know how it is when you drink too many beers.
Am I headed to making number two,
42
Wednesday 13 June 2007
It was the 80's that night
Stop. Rewind. The year is 1987. I am a sophomore in high school and it is a Saturday in the fall. Smell those autumn leaves. In the hallways at school the buzz all week has been the party at the Raptist brothers house. Parents are out and the beer will be flowing. One thing for sure, the party is going to be bumping, and oh yes, I will be in effect.
Hold up, not so fast. See your boy has a chica friend from another school across town and her mom's throwing up the red light. What's a strapping young lad to do? Skip what is sure to be the dopest night of the year and spend it with his lady or hit the party with his boys and turn that mother out?
Amy H. rings me up on the phone after a full day of back and forth about what I am going to do. She proceeds to lay down the guantlet, "If you go to that party, don't worry about calling me tomorrow." Silence on the line. What to do, what to do, what to do? Come on folks, this is no contest. "Ok," I retort, "Take care." Click.
7:30 in the PM and the big brother drives me and my boys to the party but not without a stop at the 7-11 to pick up some beer, plus his normal twenty percent (Hey, it is a buyer's buyer's market.) With my Old Milwaukee tall boys, eight beers in the convenience of six cans, I hit the party and what clearly is a new world.
The Raptist brothers are seniors but one of my boys has an 'in' so we are golden to get the pass, free from hassle. I am seeing shit I never thought I would ever see, is that a joint being freely passed around out in the open? Over to me, "Hey, you cool?" Toke, toke. "Cool enough."
Scoping the scene and the upper class ladies are to die for. Jennifer L. and Katie C. girls in womens bodies. Allison and Laura, twins, so much beauty God had to make two. Ms. Weaver, you and your lady friends, in all of your independent flair, it is just too much for the man in this boy...for now. We will come to meet ours, but for now a hand reaches down from above and a voice rings in my head, "Walk first, plenty of time to run later." Now is the time to play with kids my own age.
Deep into the tall boys, I have a full swagger. Any writer worth their salt will tell you to write what you know, so goes the same in life, work what you know. I settle into some conversation with Elizabeth T. and Angie H. (fellow sophomores) and on the stereo this new song that is gaining traction on the charts comes on. A new band, called Whitesnake and the song is called "Here I Go Again."
Never before in the history of this man has music been so fitting. Sure I like music as much as the next guy, but when David Coverdale opens that tune with:
I don't know where I'm goin
but I sure know where I've been
hanging on the promises in songs of yesterday.
An' I've made up my mind, I ain't wasting no more time
but here I go again, here I go again.
It was a flash of clarity, there are in fact plenty of fish in the sea and also at that precise moment music stopped being background filler and stepped into the role of soundtrack to my life.
Right after that another voice sounds off in my head, "If you go to that party, don't worry about calling me in the morning." No problem because I am in the middle of trying to decide which of these two girls is going to be sucking on my face in thirty minutes.
Epilogue:
Amy H called on Sunday morning to apologize for her behavior, I didn't.
All for now,
42
Hold up, not so fast. See your boy has a chica friend from another school across town and her mom's throwing up the red light. What's a strapping young lad to do? Skip what is sure to be the dopest night of the year and spend it with his lady or hit the party with his boys and turn that mother out?
Amy H. rings me up on the phone after a full day of back and forth about what I am going to do. She proceeds to lay down the guantlet, "If you go to that party, don't worry about calling me tomorrow." Silence on the line. What to do, what to do, what to do? Come on folks, this is no contest. "Ok," I retort, "Take care." Click.
7:30 in the PM and the big brother drives me and my boys to the party but not without a stop at the 7-11 to pick up some beer, plus his normal twenty percent (Hey, it is a buyer's buyer's market.) With my Old Milwaukee tall boys, eight beers in the convenience of six cans, I hit the party and what clearly is a new world.
The Raptist brothers are seniors but one of my boys has an 'in' so we are golden to get the pass, free from hassle. I am seeing shit I never thought I would ever see, is that a joint being freely passed around out in the open? Over to me, "Hey, you cool?" Toke, toke. "Cool enough."
Scoping the scene and the upper class ladies are to die for. Jennifer L. and Katie C. girls in womens bodies. Allison and Laura, twins, so much beauty God had to make two. Ms. Weaver, you and your lady friends, in all of your independent flair, it is just too much for the man in this boy...for now. We will come to meet ours, but for now a hand reaches down from above and a voice rings in my head, "Walk first, plenty of time to run later." Now is the time to play with kids my own age.
Deep into the tall boys, I have a full swagger. Any writer worth their salt will tell you to write what you know, so goes the same in life, work what you know. I settle into some conversation with Elizabeth T. and Angie H. (fellow sophomores) and on the stereo this new song that is gaining traction on the charts comes on. A new band, called Whitesnake and the song is called "Here I Go Again."
Never before in the history of this man has music been so fitting. Sure I like music as much as the next guy, but when David Coverdale opens that tune with:
I don't know where I'm goin
but I sure know where I've been
hanging on the promises in songs of yesterday.
An' I've made up my mind, I ain't wasting no more time
but here I go again, here I go again.
It was a flash of clarity, there are in fact plenty of fish in the sea and also at that precise moment music stopped being background filler and stepped into the role of soundtrack to my life.
Right after that another voice sounds off in my head, "If you go to that party, don't worry about calling me in the morning." No problem because I am in the middle of trying to decide which of these two girls is going to be sucking on my face in thirty minutes.
Epilogue:
Amy H called on Sunday morning to apologize for her behavior, I didn't.
All for now,
42
Monday 11 June 2007
Definitely not the first, surely not the last.
As per the title, this is my first foray into what has recently been tabbed as the blogosphere (is that spelled correctly? Who can tell these days since is seems that new words are made up on a daily basis an inserted into the lexicon as common place?)
A close personal friend of mine, Jaded Bitterman, recently shared his own musings with me on his very own blog. Upon reading his posts I figured that I too could hop onto the series of tubes and post my thoughts like countless of millions of others all the while hiding behind the anonymity in all of the glory that is the SoT.
So I have come so far as to begin this blog, but now what do I write? Jokingly in my conversation with JB, I said I could begin, in catharsis, by telling the world of my dating woes with the ladies. Surely no one else has ever used the Internet to openly discuss such a personal matter, right? JB was not impressed but he did give me some encouraging words and even penned the opener for my first ever post on a blog. Without further ado,
"hi: im {proper name omitted} , im separated and living my 20's in my 30's. do you want to have sex with me?"
For now I bid farewell but not before I ask any of the ladies, (as per JB's offering) do you want to have sex with me?
Out,
42
A close personal friend of mine, Jaded Bitterman, recently shared his own musings with me on his very own blog. Upon reading his posts I figured that I too could hop onto the series of tubes and post my thoughts like countless of millions of others all the while hiding behind the anonymity in all of the glory that is the SoT.
So I have come so far as to begin this blog, but now what do I write? Jokingly in my conversation with JB, I said I could begin, in catharsis, by telling the world of my dating woes with the ladies. Surely no one else has ever used the Internet to openly discuss such a personal matter, right? JB was not impressed but he did give me some encouraging words and even penned the opener for my first ever post on a blog. Without further ado,
"hi: im {proper name omitted} , im separated and living my 20's in my 30's. do you want to have sex with me?"
For now I bid farewell but not before I ask any of the ladies, (as per JB's offering) do you want to have sex with me?
Out,
42
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)