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2005 January 20th Thursday 02:07PST - Balancing Act
Thursday afternoon (January 13th), i had my quarterly appointment with Doctor Beiser, my HIV specialist. She was encouraging, and i expressed my appreciation. I fasted all day before going to her office, because i had a number of laboratory tests for which they drew blood, and the ones involving lipids and glucose levels required that i not have any food intake during the preceding hours. This caused me to be a tiny bit shaky, but wasn't a big deal because i am somewhat accustomed to having large portions of my days occasionally pass without eating. After i finished with the doctor, i walked down the street (taking care on the icy sidewalks) to the outpatient laboratory at my other doctor's office, where all six of the vials of blood were drawn. I admire the aplomb with which the phlebotomists always handle the situation, as they are dealing with sharp needles and potentially hazardous exposure to HIV and other transmissible agents. Many healthcare workers have dangerous jobs, but those who deal directly with my veins are certainly being brave. After i finished there, i walked back to the other parking lot, trying not to slip on the ice, then drove home. I used to be more squeamish and felt weak after venipuncture, but lately it doesn't seem to bother me much at all. I guess i've grown inured to the procedures, after repeating them at least a hundred times over the years. When i arrived home Tony was awake, and we had our coffee. I had a cup of yogurt, which quelled the shakiness. I thought about my conversation with the doctor, and how she seemed quite sincere when she expressed hopefulness that my situation would continue to be stable, perhaps allowing me to live quite a few years beyond anything i'd previously expected. I suppose it's wise to be prepared for greater difficulties, while still permitting a certain amount of optimism. At least, that's sort of how my mind works. If i'm to be honest with myself, maybe i should admit that i am sometimes pessimistic to a certain extent. But i mostly hope to simply be peaceful.
Friday morning (January 14th), the temperature reached its lowest point of the winter so far, at -7C (20F). In the afternoon, when i fetched the snail-mail, the parking lot was still covered with ice but the streets seemed to be clear and safe. The high pressure drifting over us from the Arctic was causing the frigid conditions, but also made it extremely clear as the bright sunshine reflected off the remnants of ice. The glaciers sparkled on the distant mountains in Canada, and a chilly breeze flowed from the northeast out of the canyons and across the Bay. Later after dark, around 18:00PST, i was watching the world outside the window, and i saw five aircraft simultaneously at various distances and altitudes. A couple were coming and going from Bellingham's airport; a couple were probably coming and going from Vancouver's; and one was so far away near the horizon to the northwest, i couldn't determine its direction. A tugboat pulled a barge into the Whatcom Waterway. The ski areas in the Canadian Coastal Range twinkled from sixty to a hundred kilometers away. Harbor lights were bright, while the sky shone with some stars which seemed dim in comparison. I think i've been finding a certain comfort in the familiarity of all these sights day after day, now that i've been in this spot for over two and a half years. I love my view of the ocean, the mountains, the islands, the city, the industry, the traffic, the birds and seals, the people and cars which pass below our window. I probably love it even more when it's raining, but that was certainly not happening on a frigid night like Friday. Nevertheless, it was a very enjoyable panorama, and it added to my good mood. I was high.
After some thorough enema action, i played with many of my dildos. The Triple Ripple Buttplug (#32) had a crack where the bottom ripple joined to the base, so i retired it permanently. For beginning my gradual progression through various shapes and sizes of ass-stuffers, i chose the Black Silicone Plug (#37), and then used the Mango Ripple (#26). The KevinDeanJunior (#5) was useful for rapid piston action in my well-lubricated ass. Shawn'sDong (#17) was the next item i enjoyed, and it was quite significantly thicker than the previous starters; however, i seemed to open up for him right away, and soon took all of his length, right down to the balls. I wore my raunchy yellow jockstrap, a leather cock-ring and a leather scrotum-stretcher. The latter fastened with a simple snap and provided constant stimulation to my genitals. I watched some of the ManPacked video again-- i was really getting turned on by the porn which Kenny had given me. The footage of stupendous dildo and fisting action was fantastic, leading me to reminisce about some of the hot guys i know, while i fantasized about scenarios which were impossible in reality but thrilling in my imagination. Then i fetched Bounce (#9) from the toybox, lubed him well, and tried to sit on him. It took lots of concentration, but after a minute i was able to work nearly two-thirds of this incredible dildo into my ass. I was kneeling on the old sheets atop the bed in front of the television, entranced and focused on both my dildo and the video. As i squeezed my nuts and rubbed my dick, i found myself humping up and down and rocking involuntarily, yanking on Bounce with my ass, sliding him most of the way in and out, tightening and flexing my muscles around him as he drove me wild with pleasure. Grunts and quiet sighs emerged from my throat. I inhaled a whiff of poppers, then thrashed on him crazily. William Orbit's beautiful album Strange Cargo: Hinterland played on the stereo. I had to keep slowing myself down and momentarily forbade myself from touching my penis because i was so close to orgasm. I wanted these incredible feelings to continue forever, and yet i was simultaneously craving an intense burst of sensations to push myself over the top. I kept shifting my weight and scooted Bounce so he was gripped between my ankles as i rode his huge head and the upper half of his smooth shaft.
On the video, one of the gorgeous men was getting fisted so vigorously that squirts of lube kept spraying out of his ass while his buddy pounded away. I squeezed my cock and smiled wickedly as my eyes rolled back and a gentle groan emerged from somewhere deep inside myself and was sustained. All my muscles grew more tense, and i felt as though i were spinning, swirling, tumbling around as the music seemed to harmonize with my body's rhythms. My left hand tugged my nads downward as it gripped the leather accessories, and my cock fucked my right hand with arching thrusts as i repeatedly lifted myself to the top of Bounce and slammed back down. "Uuunnnhnhnhh..." I gasped and found my gaze focusing on the comely men on the television screen. "Unh... Unh! Unh! Aah! Ha!" I fantasized that my dead best friend Shawn was in the video, fucking and bouncing and squirting and moaning. My jizz sprayed in globs across the toys and sheets in front of me; my muscles ached; and with an exquisite shudder i found myself coming back to reality. I slowed to a stop, suddenly hypersensitive to the preposterous stretching of my ass. Carefully sliding up off Bounce, i could not stop a small cry from slipping from my lips as my ass was relieved of this fucker. I rolled sideways off the bed and stood up, unsnapping the cock-ring and ball-stretcher, looking at the gooey globs on the bed. Still panting a bit, i bent down and smeared my face into my semen, licking and swallowing some. It was unusually sweet on this occasion, probably due to all the stevia, sucralose and sugar that i'd consumed in my beverages. I sat on the bed again, feeling more calm. Picking up the remote control wrapped safely in cellophane, i stopped the VCR and turned the television off. I wiped away some of the grease from my hands and ass with a paper towel, stepped out of the jockstrap, and William Orbit's album ended.
I happily slipped the Black Silicone Plug back into my ass and decided to take a small break from the exertion. Into The Labyrinth by Dead Can Dance began to play on the stereo. Lisa Gerrard's distinctive voice and Brendan Perry's intricate melodies transported me to a mysterious place in my daydreams as i sat and meditated on all the magical feelings i was having. Perry sang on some of the tracks, too: "Dream, my dear, and renounce temporal obligation.... Dream on, my dear-- it's a sleep from which you may not awaken...."
After resting, i felt eager for more sexercise. Bam (#4) was able to satisfy my urge to be stretched tremendously. I stuck him to the board against the wall, using his very handy suction-cup base, and backed up on hands and knees until i was able to push him into myself. With a great deal of exertion, i rode him in and out, working up quite a sweat. Conscious of the fatigue in some of my muscles, particularly around my knees and hips, i eventually removed him from the wall and squatted on him in various crouching stances. He drove me crazy with pleasure, and my ass eventually accepted all of his length without struggle. I was in good form on this occasion. Keeping him embedded as i sat back against the pillow, i retrieved a bunch of headgear from the box aside the bed.
The feelings of familiarity and excitement seemed luxurious as i handled the leather, rubber and metal items. The inflatable rubber butterfly gag, the five-strap leather head-harness, the locking O-ring gag, the padded velcro blindfold, and the locking leather hood were assembled carefully. A week earlier, i had accidentally broken the leather lace which runs through the metal eyelets along the back of the hood, so i had knotted it together again. The knot didn't slide through the eyelets very easily, but i was learning how to manipulate it, practising, familiarizing myself with the methods which i would perfect, going completely by sense of feel. When encasing my head in these items, choking and gagging myself, locking myself into my intense, sensual, ultra-self-conscious world of my private games, i felt heightened awareness of the smells, textures, and sounds of these items in my self-imposed darkness. Bam was an intense stimulus up my ass during the entire time that i toyed with the gag and locks and hood.
I estimate that i played with all this gear for nearly an hour (while Bam continuously satisfied my ass-lust) as the album by the Dead Can Dance finished, and the next music to waft from the stereo speakers was Mindflower by HumanMeshDance. Drilling myself viciously with the monstrous rubber dong, i slowly and intentionally brought the action to the edge of suffocation, inflating the gag until it mostly blocked my throat. I inhaled a few hits of poppers as i held the bottle blindly near the grommets at my nostrils. In a frenzy of twisted slobbering ecstasy, i masturbated to another orgasm while Bam sent imaginary explosions of energy up my ass and through my body. I pulled him back out suddenly, wrenching him free as sparkles danced in the darkness of my mind. Gurgling and hissing faintly, it took several minutes to undo all the headgear and extricate the gag from my face. When i was finally free of all these items, the rubber butterfly fell from my exhausted lips, hard-earned tendrils of phlegm dripping from my mouth and the deflated toy. I sat there looking at my semen and drool, sliding my hands over my body and feeling my perspiration as i panted, more fatigued than ever. These toys, this diabolical gear of joy, these things were familiar to my touch, almost like a lover. I knew the sensations, textures, tensions and dimensions of all these items as intimately as i knew the feel of Tony's body, as well as i knew my own skin. The feelings of precious gratitude and love of exquisite sensual treasures were indescribable.
After wiping up, i stretched and walked around for a couple minutes. I cleaned a few items, tidied here and there; then i took Remulak (#44) from the toybox, lubed his tip, and slid him all the way into my ass. His width was no trifle, and would have normally required a bit of effort, but i was already opened and relaxed from all the slamming and sexercise with Shawn'sDong, Bounce, Bam, and the others. So i sat on the towel in the chair at my desk, engulfing Remulak all the way to his base, and wrote about some of my impressions of the night's sensations while they were fresh in my mind. Then i spent a while reading various erotic stories as i rubbed my cock and flexed my rectal muscles around the buttplug. Although i was so very tired physically, my mind was still excited and eager to continue entertaining sexy fantasies. The throbbing in my ass and genitals intensified as i stroked and squeezed, my pelvic muscles were exhausted but continued to writhe, and as the aquasonic magic bubbled from HumanMeshDance, i came to another orgasm. The semen dribbled out of my dick gently this time, running down my fingers and over my balls. I licked it up and noticed that it was still quite sweet, so i thought perhaps stevia collects in one's urethral secretions. I rose from the chair, knelt on the bed, slowly pulled Remulak out of my ass with a groan, and collapsed on the sheets. I listened to my heartbeat and my breathing as every muscle seemed to tell me that no more effort could be offered to the cause of my lust.
But i wouldn't let physical exhaustion stop me. My thoughts and emotions insisted that i could do more. I couldn't do anything magical with my body, i had my limits, but my ideas refused to subside.
After a few minutes rest, i heard the next album begin to play: Hyaline, also by HumanMeshDance (an artist whose real name is Taylor Deupree). Feeling weak but stubbornly determined, i lifted myself off the bed, and tended to the care of my toys. I washed all but one of the dildos and buttplugs in the kitchen sink, lovingly scrubbing them with hot soapy water, then rinsed each thoroughly and stood them up to dry. I cleaned up most of the gear, tidied the room, and left the Vornado heater running as i lied back on the bed and neared the end of my night.
The one ass-toy which i retained was the Black Silicone Plug (#37), and i found myself returning to it joyfully, silently thanking it for being my friend at the beginning and end of my activities. As ridiculous as it may seem to somebody else, i feel sincere appreciation toward some of my possessions in a way which is almost like a form of friendship. Although they are inanimate objects, mere physical playthings to manipulate, i hold a sense of deep respect and care about them wholeheartedly. I kissed the Silicone, licked it, rubbed it on my face and lips, smelled it, tongued it, treasured it. Then i delightedly slipped it all the way into my ass as i stretched out across the bed. I rested my head on the pillow and listened to the gentle musical ambience. I fantasized about my dead friend Shawn. I daydreamed about some of the best lovers i've ever known: Tony, Kenny, Pasha.... I replayed certain memories of dionysian events, and cherished the mental images which were conjured as my mind danced around some of our sexual histories together. As i absentmindedly fondled my balls, i felt my cock grow hard once again.
I repeatedly flexed my anus, imagining that the Silicone was injecting me with a magical medicine, a love-sex-drug whose charms would infuse my dreams. It would bless my abstractions which were being shaped by my emotions. I wasn't crying, but i felt like i was on the edge of a cathartic sentiment, sighing and groaning almost inaudibly; i was appreciating these moments that are the essence of my life. As i invented scenes with dream-lovers behind closed eyes, i sensed an ache in a thousand places which told me i had pushed myself to my meager physical limits. The music trickled into the edges of the fantasies, and a warmth coalesced, gathered itself, and became focused; a sensation of convergence arrived in my guts, in my nuts, in my desperate muscles, in my tired arms, into my brain which had danced off the edge again. With genuine surprise, another orgasm wracked my body, arching my back up off the bed as my limbs spasmed and a couple quiet moans were choked from my throat. I had lost track of the time, had forgotten how many ejaculations had occurred, had gone so far into my dreamworlds that i'd stopped caring whether i remembered my name or identity. The flailing stopped, my gasps slowed, and i lied there in my own puddles, stunned and relieved. I almost felt that i would cry, i was so overjoyed; but i was too tired to even squeeze out a teardrop. The sheets felt comforting as i became very conscious of the pleasant way the bed seemed to support me as i was drifting off.
I was almost unconscious, but then was pushed back to awareness as i heard the next album begin to play. Spirit Chaser by Dead Can Dance is a beautiful work of audio art, uplifting me whenever i hear it. I smiled and opened my eyes, examining the room which was dimly lit by the lava-lamp and the soft red, green, and blue luminance of the low-wattage bulbs in the other fixtures. The Vornado hummed gently as it warmed the air, and circulated it efficiently around the room. The slats of the window-blinds were tilted at an upward angle, and i looked through them to the sky. Without my eyeglasses, i didn't expect to resolve any stars or clouds; there was only the amber glow of the city as usual. Gerrard's vocals and Perry's multi-layered harmonies blended with many instruments tenderly played by a collaboration of skillful musicians. The Black Silicone Buttplug felt reassuring as it nestled in my ass, like a friend who would hold my hand as i fell asleep. I must have remained partially awake for another half-hour, because i seem to remember the first four or five songs of Spirit Chaser. But eventually, my thoughts left this world.
Hours later, i'd been having some dream in which i was about to achieve something, about to accomplish something, and i was right on the verge.... I awoke to the realization that my muscles were clamped on the buttplug. I reached down and carefully slid it out of my ass, to the intense relief of those unconscious personalities who had been concentrating on it so intently. It was a few minutes after noon; the day was totally overcast, grey and dark, a typical January impression of Bellingham. I wasn't cold, despite the fact that there were no sheets nor blankets covering me. The central heating was keeping the building at a pleasant temperature, and the Vornado also heated the room well enough for my naked circumstances. I arose and went to the kitchen, washed the grease off the buttplug, and brewed some coffee. My movements were slow, and i felt pleased with all the physical exercise i'd managed. Part of me is so greedy, i wished every moment of my life could be as intense and powerful as this weekend had been so far; but realistically, these are the exceptional occasions. So i vowed to value them, and receive from them a variety of benefits which i intend to sow across the rest of my days. I don't have the actual strength to exercise and elaborate constantly; but i have the will to harvest the bounty of these actions and feed myself with it for as long as i live. That's my attitude, anyway.
I spent part of the afternoon writing. I listened to the BeatBlender stream from SomaFM. As night fell, it began to snow, a thick white shower of flakes which blotted the city from view, until i could see only the lights of our street and the nearby waterfront imparting an amber glow to the storm. After taking another Marinol (plus my usual handful of other pills) i felt horny again. I returned to my bed and gathered the headgear around me. A few minutes later, i was encasing myself in my shadowy world of leather smells and clinking metal buckles. As i was inflating the gag locked in my mouth, my dick grew erect; the pressure and constriction was almost overwhelming as the straps squeezed into my skin and wrapped me in darkness. Feeling blindly on the shelf next to the bed, i found the bottle of poppers and held them below the openings at my nostrils. The pungent odor filled my senses and made the throbbing in my head grow louder.
I placed the bottle back on the shelf, and squeezed the inflator a few more times until i could no longer inhale more than a tiny labored wheeze. Then i pulled on my scrotum with one hand and rubbed my dick rapidly with the other. Softly gurgling, trapped in my special place, dizzy and trembling, i blew another load all over my hands and thighs. Suddenly panicking as my lungs ached for air, i released the valve on the gag, providing partial relief from the suffocation. Fumbling and shaking, i felt for the keys on the shelf, unlocked the hood, and began unlacing as fast as i could manage. I was choking a bit on the gag, unable to swallow the huge gob of mucous that had built up behind my tongue, and i worried that i would pass out if i didn't release myself soon. But after a thrilling minute, i managed to loosen the laces and then rip the hood away from my face. Another key in another tiny padlock, and the O-ring gag was undone, suddenly freeing some of the tension of the leather around my throat and cheeks. My fingers yanked on all the familiar buckles, the leather straps slid and slapped as they were unfastened, and finally the head-harness was coming off. The inflatable rubber butterfly fell from my mouth as the obscene gobs of spit hung from my chin and i ripped the velcro open at the back of the blindfold, blinking and squinting as i looked at my toys strewn around me. A few blobs of semen were on my crotch and stomach. The edges of my fingernails were black where some of the dye from the leather had rubbed off, probably because of all the sweat, snot and sperm which had been smeared on my hands and my gear. I smiled with contentment, rubbing my jaw and scratching my head where the bindings had pressed so hard. Then i wiped up and put my toys away.
I returned to my desk, and noticed the light on the telephone blinking with an incoming call. I answered and heard the automated prescription refill system from Rite-Aid pharmacy delivering a message which i believed to be quite erroneous. So i pressed the buttons and scrolled through the phone's program memory, finding the number to reach a pharmacist directly. When they answered, i asked them to please help clear up the error created by their computer system. They found that one of my prescriptions had been filled early by mistake, and had already been billed to my insurance company, so they issued a cancellation, and we arranged for it to be postponed until the proper date at the end of the next week, when i expected to also purchase four other drug refills, the same as i do every month. They assured me that the error had been fixed and the billing was corrected, but i had very little confidence that things were done properly. It seems that nearly every month they have some kind of problem with one silly thing or another. I suppose i might be one of their more complicated patients, as there are generally seven or eight active scripts in my file at any time; but their computerized system apparently created as many problems as it solved. I was sort of irritated, but then i reminded myself to just be grateful that all these drugs were available, and attempted to find satisfaction in the simple fact that i am still alive today mostly because of a dozen effective medications that i've had to take during recent years. My pique abated and i slipped back into a happy mood, high on cannabinoids, physically sated.
The snow quickly coated everything, and i listened to the click of icy sleet blowing against the window. The winds from the northeast swept the white precipitation sideways under the streetlamps. BeatBlender played a song by the Supreme Beings Of Leisure, and i decided to cook some healthy food with Tony. We baked breaded mozzarella sticks, and made a large saucepan of red potato curry with tofu and vegetables. It included green bell pepper, peas, celery, black olives, plum tomato, zucchini, minced ginger, garlic, and onion. The tofu was marinated with soy sauce, brown sugar, and balsamic vinegar. We used lots of Thai red curry paste, peanut oil, and many spoonfuls of fish sauce. Spices included fenugrek, cumin, coriander, cayenne, mustard, turmeric, cardamom, fennel seeds, cracked peppercorns, red pepper flakes, hot chili oil, cinnamon, cloves, and MSG. We cooked everything in rich coconut milk. For dessert, we had some Sara Lee cheesecake.
We watched our videotape of the CBC's Royal Canadian Air Farce and This Hour Has 22 Minutes. They were both excellent episodes. Then i fell asleep for about thirteen hours. When i woke up Sunday afternoon, Tony was sleeping in his bed, so i snuggled up next to him. He humped me from behind, then started sticking his boner further and further into my butt, until he blew his jizz in me and it ran all over the crack of my ass. Then we wiped up, went to the kitchen and had our coffee. We spent some time tending to various tasks: we had some fenugrek seeds which we ground in the blender until they were mostly powdered, repeatedly running them through a fine mesh and back into the blades until they'd all been pulverized; Tony vacuumed the floors and rugs; and i brushed the accumulated dust out of the grills of the Vornado. When we were done cleaning and tidying, we showered and got dressed and went out shopping.
We purchased lots of groceries at the Food Pavilion in Fairhaven. After bringing them home and putting everything away, we made some dinner. Tony took some fried chicken from the deli and made it crispy again in the oven, while i made a salad with diced tomatoes, romaine lettuce, cubed mozzarella, broccoli, olive oil, balsamic vinegar, dulse flakes, parmesan, a variety of herbs and cracked pepper. For dessert, we had some donuts from the bakery. Then we watched our videotape of Saturday Night Live, scanning through most of the skits and only paying attention to a few of the jokes, as it's really not so funny to us lately. We also watched Enterprise, which is a Star Trek series that has not really been as entertaining for us as its predecessors. Then we enjoyed Malcolm In The Middle and The Simpsons. As the rain grew heavier, i fell asleep. When i awoke a couple times Monday morning, i noticed that all the snow and ice was finally gone, and rivulets flowed down the street while the droplets blew against our windows. I finally got out of bed after noon and made coffee.
My mother called from Florida and discussed the consequences of my grandmother's death in Vermont last month. As i'd expected, there was a lot of stupid drama and childishness concerning the disposition of assets and property in Fran's will, as my mother and stepfather were obviously displeased with their allocation. Most of Fran's wealth had actually been distributed wisely while she was still alive, and i felt that she had always been generous to my parents (despite the fact that my mother was always an insufferable fountain of belligerence) but they still weren't satisfied with the details after Fran's death. So my stepfather shirked his duties as executor of the estate and departed in a huff, leaving the rest of the arrangements to Fran's other family members, including her elderly sisters and their families. I wanted to tell my mother just what i thought of the immaturity, the ridiculously petty behavior, and the pointless bickering; but i tried to remain diplomatic, and didn't voice my actual opinions. In my mind, Fran was more than generous to everyone, including her only child (my stepfather); but my parents are of course so ungrateful, greedy, and narrow in their thinking, there is just no way to reason with them. I was extremely relieved to be thousands of miles away from all their nonsense, and silently vowed to continue keeping my distance.
I think Fran was kind toward everyone, even toward people who didn't deserve her kindness. I believe she was considerate, fair, and always treated people better than the circumstances warranted. I will always remember her as one of the few people in my extended family who behaved in a friendly way towards me, always being decent and open-minded and nonjudgmental. I don't care what my parents say or do, i don't care what any of our other relatives think-- i loved my grandmother just the way she was, she appeared to love me just the way i am; and when my parents focus on the material issues rather than remembering what a nice lady she had been, i think it's just ugly and revolting. In my mind i tried to dismiss all the pettiness and ignore their stupidity, and i only wished to avoid being involved in any of their problems. I was happy that Fran did not endure any extreme suffering, i was relieved that she was able to live her life as she wished, and i think i will always admire her. The attitudes of my parents and others shall be irrelevant.
The warm Pacific moisture flowed across Western Washington, and flood warnings were issued for most of the region. The temperature rose to 11C (52F) Monday afternoon, and i was delighted that the previous week's wintery conditions had vanished, replaced by all the lovely mist and drizzle which kept us insulated from further incursions of cold Canadian air. The gale whipped up whitecaps across the Bay, and the showers made a soft pleasant sound as the sprinkles tapped on the window. Tony and i enjoyed more donuts with our coffee. There was no postal delivery, as the national holiday of Doctor Martin Luther King Junior's birthday was observed.
In the evening, we cooked some rice with chicken and vegetables, then took some pot-stickers from the freezer and fried those too. I served the pot-stickers (stuffed with vegetables and chicken) with some leftover potato curry on a bed of the rice. Tony and i enjoyed this large meal, and had more cheesecake for dessert. But soon thereafter, my digestive system was quite distressed, and i spent a while trotting back and forth to the toilet. Some days i don't think i net a very large amount of caloric absorption, despite the appetite stimulants, all the healthy food we prepare, and all the fattening desserts. At best, i seem to simply maintain my weight, never gaining significantly, but hopefully finding all losses to be temporary also.
We watched our videotape of Death To Smoochy, which we enjoyed; however, it was heavily edited to air during primetime on Comedy Central, so we noticed that most of the funnier lines were deleted or bleeped. Then we saw Rick Mercer's Monday Report, which was funny as always, and featured excellent guest appearances from Mary Walsh and Sue Johansen. The CBC then premiered their new comedy Hatching, Matching and Dispatching, featuring comedians we love: Mary Walsh, Shaun Majumder, Mark McKinney, and many more of our Canadian favorites. Set in Newfoundland, it was very black humor, and had us laughing continuously.
During the very early morning hours of Tuesday, i was horny and so i masturbated before falling asleep with Tony. When i awoke, he'd gone to sleep in his bed, and i was alone. The day was rainy and large grey clouds hung over the islands and the Bay. Still feeling very aroused, i toyed with the leather bondage headgear, and masturbated again. Then somehow i was still feeling very lustful, and i wanked one more time, mildly surprised by the strength of my sexual urges. When i'm feeling so extremely turned-on, i like to imagine that it's a sign of good health, an indication that my body is doing well physically. Of course, there may be little actual correlation; nevertheless, it's something i wish to believe, as i can't see any harm coming from this attitude.
I watched a couple tugboats come and go in the mist. A couple large birds circled overhead, and i thought they might be hawks. A helicopter disappeared into the clouds. Occasional raindrops hit the window. The noise of a lawnmower surprised me-- i'd not expected anyone to be doing this in January. But as i looked over the grass and saw that it was indeed thick, green and tall, i realized that this wasn't so abnormal in Western Washington. In my thirty years in Vermont, lawncare didn't begin until springtime, usually around April. But the climate out here is often ten to twenty degrees (Fahrenheit) warmer between November and March. I brewed a pot of Arabica coffee, flavored with vanilla, mace, cloves, ginger, cinnamon, and allspice. On the stereo, i listened to a couple old albums by Spicelab: Lost In Spice and A Day On Our Planet. It pleased me to imagine that spring was just around the corner.
At mid-day, i read many of the erotic stories at Gromet's Plaza. Although much of the material there did not appeal to my personal tastes, some of it was quite exciting to me, particularly the consensual tales of tight bondage, sensory deprivation, and tactile delights. Much to my amazement, i found myself masturbating to two more orgasms during the early afternoon. My penis was almost beginning to get sore from all the rubbing. I don't know why i was in such a horny mood Tuesday, but it felt fantastic.
I got dressed and took the recyclables down to the bins, then fetched the snail-mail. It was so warm and pleasant outside, it didn't even seem like winter. Back inside, i poured myself another cup of coffee and went over the bills which had arrived. I also received my forms for filing my federal tax return. It seemed likely that the few hundred dollars withheld from my Verizon Long-Term Disability plan would be refunded to me, since that income plus my Social Security reached a total amount below the level where any taxes would be owed. In some ways, i'm sort of proud of my ability to live happily on half of the income which i used to earn when i was an operator in Directory Assistance. My lifestyle has become more simplified, and i have reduced much of the consumerism that was such a large part of my behavior in the past. Certainly, i still occasionally shop for things which are non-vital (because every now and then, i'm just thrilled to acquire a new dildo, or perhaps a music CD, for example) but i have minimized those habits. So long as my health insurance covers the exorbitant expenses of medications, hospital services, and doctor consultations, i can handle all of my life's other costs by living frugally and conscientiously... at least, for the time being. I never dare to be too certain of anything, always hoping to be prepared for unexpected developments, just to be safe. But i know that i am truly fortunate compared to most of the world. It saddens me to hear of all the billions of people in this world who are impoverished and unfairly made to labor while they often don't have basic necessities such as decent shelter, proper food, or even adequate water. I would quite willingly forego luxuries in my life and settle for a lower standard of living, if the wealth could be redistributed more evenly across the planet. But i know that's not even necessary: if the richest minority on the planet (the handful of multi-millionaires and billionaires who control an obscenely unfair amount of the world's finances) were to share their riches more considerately, nobody would have to be so poor. It doesn't require a utopian miracle, it only takes a reasonable amount of cooperation and a willingness to relinquish greedy ways.
By the time Tony got out of bed, i had finished filling out my tax return. We enjoyed the rest of the donuts and coffee while watching the clouds blowing swiftly overhead. The squalls of rain grew heavy at times, and an occasional vessel plied the waters of Bellingham Bay. We watched our videotape of The Daily Show with Jon Stewart, then we enjoyed quite a few episodes of The Carol Burnett Show, which Kenny had sent to us a while ago after he'd taped them during a marathon last year on the TVLand network. Meanwhile, the temperature reached a record high for January 18th, 14C (57F), as we benefitted from the "Pineapple Express"-- lovely, warm, moist Pacific air flowing from Hawaii and the tropical regions all the way to our coastal temperate zone, keeping British Columbia, Washington and Oregon mild and eminently habitable.
I slept through the morning of Wednesday the 19th until about 13:00PST. When i awoke, the clouds made beautiful swirling patterns across the sky, and the extremely powerful winds rattled the building and stirred up whitecaps on the surface of the sea. The temperature reached an amazing new record high: 17C (63F). A barge was moored at the pier and tractor-trailer trucks were alongside transferring cargo. I told Tony about dreams i'd been having: My sister Aimee and other friends are helping me, having me move into some kind of nursing home in Vermont near Shelburne and South Burlington. I don't seem to mind the notion of being stuck in a healthcare facility, but i dislike the fact that it's in Vermont-- although this dream takes place in the summer, i'm dreading the cold winter which will be coming. We are sitting outside at picnic tables near the beach, the sun is reflecting off the waters of Lake Champlain, a breeze is blowing the papers on our tables. There is a cheque with my grandmother's handwriting, i see the word "twenty-nine" and some zeroes follow thereafter, but i'm confused whether they refer to hundreds or thousands or some larger amount. Her script is so perfectly neat, tiny, in dark ink on the light blue paper. A lady is helping us complete a questionnaire, and i know my friend Travis and other people are trying to help me understand, but i just don't want to be stuck here when the snow comes. Scott Whittemore is in this dream, too-- he's an old fuck-buddy from more than ten years ago, a tall handsome young man who used to have sex with me sometimes. I remember the time Scott and Isaac Gonyo fucked me simultaneously; they both had large cocks, and i remember how Scott was lying on the side of the futon, legs over the edge, and i sat on top of his crotch, riding his curved penis which was shaped like a hockey-stick, and Isaac came up from behind and got his big penis in me too, the two of them stuffed me so full of dick it was amazing and they both seemed to love it, and it stretched me so much, it felt so good to cum with them both inside me... When i woke up, i was horny, my head filled with the pleasant memories of those exciting occasions years ago, and i told Tony about the silly things that had floated through my mind.
After our coffee, we watched Scrubs, and an episode of Law & Order: SVU. The latter was so absurd, so lacking in entertainment value, that i decided to finally delete it from the VCR recording program. Then we watched The Daily Show with Jon Stewart, whose guest was Jim Wallace, an evangelical christian whom i found ridiculous. I'll continue watching Stewart's show because it still can make me laugh frequently, despite these occasionally idiotic people who appear for interviews; but i have no enthusiasm for most of what's on television anymore. I suppose i'm looking forward to new episodes of South Park, 22 Minutes, and Monday Report, which are a few of the programs remaining which don't completely insult my intelligence. But every day, i ask myself why am i still subscribing to cable television when it's mostly such a wasteland of crap? At some point, i'm going to give it up, the same way i eventually gave up cigarettes and alcohol. It will be healthy for me to eliminate this addiction, too.
Wednesday evening, i brewed a pot of tea and shared it with Tony. We spent time twiddling around on our computers. He often tends to read technical articles and geeky stuff, whereas i frittered away hours looking at webcomics, "news" articles, and porn. The heavy rains obscured most of the city, and i couldn't see Lummi Island nor Ferndale at midnight. I listened to a few songs by the Starseeds, and a couple old albums by Talking Heads. I also browsed a number of old pages in my own online diary here, correcting a few typographical errors.
It struck me as a little silly that i had labelled some portions of my webpages "public" and some "private", since there is obviously no such thing as "private" content in this context. I suppose it's just an awkward way of describing some distinction in my mind. The portions which are marked "public" are those which i feel free to share with anybody because i don't think anything objectionable is to be found there, even if i were to show it to someone such as my own parents. Those "public" sections don't really say very much about who i really am personally, don't go beyond the superficial. However, the sections which are labelled as "private" are more revealing, exposing very personal thoughts and descriptions of my life, expounding on my ideas and activities which are not generally the sort of thing that i'd discuss with anybody except a close friend who might be intimately interested. Clearly, there's no particular reason for me to hide anything from any reader, as i have only disdain for notions of 'modesty', 'shame', or 'propriety'. But as i keep these varieties of content somewhat segregated, it's simply my way of presenting myself to any observer, distinctly indicating what i think might be acceptable to all the world, versus what might be worth sharing only with an audience which specifically appreciates the more intimate discussions. Perhaps i could have used better nomenclature, or maybe even a different approach entirely; but i expect very few people to be reading any of these pages at all, so it's not really of much importance. It's just another example of the half-ass, awkward, clumsiness which is pervasive to so much of my thinking when placed in the context of outside observation.
Someone whose opinions i often respect had recently told me that i was "self-loathing". At first, i didn't believe this description. But then i thought about how i have a tendency to derogate aspects of my character and my thinking which i don't appreciate, and i do tend to be heavily critical of my own actions and ideas. So it's understandable that somebody might see this as "loathing"; but in my opinion, a more accurate depiction of my attitudes would be that i am simply treating myself the same way i treat most everyone and everything-- with complaints, heavy-handed judgment, nit-picking, and other sometimes unsavory approaches. This antipathy isn't necessarily very strong, but it's an indication of the way my mind was trained by much of my upbringing. I see the influences of my childhood affecting my viewpoints. As i grow older, i hope that maturity brings a more mellow attitude, or perhaps simply less excoriation whenever i feel disapproval, whether of my own traits or of others'.
After midnight as the morning of Thursday the 20th began, Tony and i watched our videotape of Law & Order and The Daily Show. I took my usual medications, but had no appetite to eat anything. I read a couple more chapters of America: The Book by Jon Stewart and other writers from his show. I usually find this sort of satirical material to be amusing; but it also can cause me to feel some sort of smouldering anger and resentment, due to the underlying sad state of the world at which it pokes fun. Lately, my most misanthropic sentiments have been predominant. Apparently, i'm not being sufficiently reclusive-- further distance from most of humanity (and its associated insanity) seems like the only solution for my animosity. On my own, i feel fine; exposed to other people, i just become irritable. In order to abate the "loathing", i probably need to detach myself emotionally from most of society. Although i'm possibly misinterpreting Sartre's meaning, i am reminded of a famous line from his play No Exit: "L'enfer, c'est les autres." [Hell is other people.]
Yet i still feel a gratitude for all the other people with whom i might cooperate to bring happiness into my life. I understand the importance of good-natured interaction for the sake of survival, subsistence, and satisfaction. If it weren't for so many other people, who would craft the dildos i love? Who would grow the food i eat? Who would maintain the infrastructure i utilize? Who would create the music and art which enriches every one of my days? Who would have given birth to me, raised me, helped me to live and become who i am? I can't dismiss the rest of humanity so easily. But i have to keep reminding myself of those things which make me grateful, lest i grow too disgusted, too disappointed with the dismal realities of 'civilization'. I guess it's a balancing act. I do want to be a friendly person, and yet i find it so hard to forgive society's serious faults-- as i find it difficult to forgive my own shortcomings. But i keep trying, because i know that most any day could be rewarding and enjoyable, if i move my focus away from the negative truths which bother me and onto the joys i prefer. Idealism and escapism are as much a part of my coping mechanisms as reclusion.
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