Bumper sticker of the day: “Keep Music Evil!”
URL of the day: No Such File.

Yesterday, I got a Christmas package from L. A little something for everything; something to feel, something to taste, something to see… Very, very cool. It included some elements that my wife can enjoy, as well.

Going to be a busy couple of weeks. My parents will be visiting for Christmas, as will our friends Thumper and Sara. We’ll likely be seeing the secondary girlfriend for some part of the upcoming week, as well. At least this time we don’t have to hide the whips and chains or otherwise “parent-proof” the house!

I won’t say that my parents have always been perfect or flawless, or that they have in all things been without error of any kind. But I am thankful that I’ve never had to conceal anything from them.

Maybe that has made me impatient with people who have families that are not so understanding. I deeply resent having to go through the house whenever my wife’s parents are in town, hiding anything that might disturb them; and I think it’s unfortunate we can’t really be who we are in front of them. But then, it’s an imperfect world.

New robot Fido doubles as a Dildo

“The street finds its own uses for things.” –William Gibson

Amusing bumper sticker of the day: “Make Him Beg!”

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If you are searching for one more useless than you in the kitchen, you need look no farther than me.

I rarely venture into the kitchen, save for finding something to drink from teh refrigerator, and when I do, I feel as though I am adrift and lost in a hostile and threatening land.

I can not cook. Anything. At all. I can’t prepare macaroni and cheese. To me, cooking is akin to sorcery–strange rituals are performed over fire, using many bizarre ingredients unrecognizable by me, and the result, magically, is food.

I don’t know what lies in our kitchen, and I don’t care to. I can often not even recognize objects of food before they are prepared, and I am mystified by their application. All my friends know better than to ask me if we have this or that ingredient on hand; in fact, most of my friends have a far better knowledge of the contents of our refrigerator and our pantry than do I. My incompetence in the kitchen is widely known and talked about–the stuff of legends and myths.

Fortunately, I have a Sicilian wife who loves to cook, and takes great pleasure in her skill at the culinary arts. Were that not so, I would eat nothing save for what is offered on the menu at McDonald’s.

I wonder, is that a vice?

First of all: My primary girlfriend has decided to start her own LiveJournal, so a big welcome to feorlen!

A number of friends and I have already purchased advanced tickets to the Wednesday screening of The Fellowship of the Ring. I can’t wait.

Spent most of the evening last night having a highly philosophical discussion with my wife and my primary girlfriend about the nature of love. We were up until after two o’clock in the morning, and I’ve been moving through a sleepy haze all day today. I believe…well, I believe many things about the nature of love,and some of those things are completely counterintuitive. Perhaps that will be the subject of a different posting later.

Friday night I set aside several hours for L., who had wanted to arrange an “online date” of sorts, which soon turned to the phone. I was very, very, very evil, and introduced her to the concept of the “zip strip.”

In case you’re not familiar with zip strips, they’re made by taking a number of clothespins (say, twelve or so) and tying them together in aline with a piece of twine, so that each clothespin is several inches from the one after it. The clothespins are clamped onto one’s body in a line, see, along certain key places–for example, in a line starting from the inner thigh just above the knee up along the thigh, up the belly, under the breast, and finally to the nipple. At the appropriate time, you pull the string, and the clothespins go flying off–pop! pop! pop!

It’s very…er, intense. Who says you can’t touch someone directly over the phone? 🙂

Don’t know yet where the thing with L. is going. You’d think I would have my hands full already, and i’ve never before attempted anything like a long-distance relationship, or at least anything that’s started that way; feorlen lives in Atlanta now, but she was local when we first started dating.

And yet…and yet…

I dunno.

This has, it seems, been the year of reacquaintanceship.

Early this year, I spoke for the first time in almost two decades with a very old, and at one time very dear, friend and lover. She had been my first lover, in fact, but time and tide carried us in different directions, and we both went out to meet our lives, and lost track of one another.

It was a happy, but not long-lasting, reunion; it seems her current lover doesn’t approve of her associating with me. Old flames are dangerous things, and all that.

Anyway, shortly after, I received a surprise phone call from another very old friend, a person who was my best friend in our high-school days, and with whom I had not spoken for some twelve years. She had been married, and had gone on to I didn’t know where, and we had fallen out of touch.

Turns out she was living not far down the road from me. We’d both moved many times in the intervening decade, but not so far as all that; we have since renewed our friendship, and have had great fun talking about our younger and more foolish selves.

Midweek, my wife received a phone call from yet another old friend, a person we last saw in 1992, some eleven years ago. He had at that time been part of a close circle of friends my wife and I held in common, which is now scattered (and with some animosity; some things happened, many of which were quite ugly and all of which were completely avoidable had we all taken more care).

“So,” he said, “I had just got to thinking about you…”

The saying goes that with clothes, new are best, and with friends, old are best. I don’t know that that’s always true; there are some people come recently in my life that I would not necessarily put below those I have known for years. Nevertheless, I think a toast to old friends is in order.

So I’ve been continuing to talk to L., who calls me her “Internet boy-toy” and introduced me to the wonders of phone sex–two minds and two voices and the power of imagination.

Today we talked about my relationship with my wife. My wife, of course, has always known about my dealings (or whatever one wishes to call them) with L., and L. broached the idea of talking to my wife directly–something she had never done.

She seemed a little unsure at first; if you are not accustomed to this sort of thing, what do you say to your lover’s spouse, even if your “lover” is only virtual?

She need not have bee concerned, of course. My wife is a genuinely warm and wonderful person, and she has no thought of care or dismay at the prospect of sharing my attentions, provided she is sharing them with the right person. The three of us were soon talking easily.

A bit too easily, I fear. For it soon came to pass that L. had some evil and devious ideas to share with my wife, and wished to do this thing without my eavesdropping.

L. is possessed of one of the finest and most imaginatively evil and cruel minds I have encountered in many years. Her creativity and her delicious evil are things to be marvelled at: “Now take a rubber band and two raw eggs…”

The two are conspiring even as I speak. Occasionally, I hear my wife laughing in the room upstairs.

I am very, very afraid.

One very long, hard week down; one very long, hard week to go. It’s been crazy…I’ve been working so much this past week I’ve barely had time to do anything else at all (including such basic things as reading my email), and now, anther long week is looming ahead. Perhaps things will start to slow down later in the week, but for now, I’m still trying to figure out how to survive…

In any event, it’s been a somewhat dreary day. Didn’t get to see the secondary girlfriend this week, as she has a cold, and didn’t get to do the photo shoot I had scheduled today either, as the model ended up with last-minute family commitments.

Oh, well. Maybe the next week will be a bit better.

I am SUCH a slut.

It seems I’ve fallen into the role of “Internet boy-toy.” I’m not quite sure how it happened.

There is this person–I’ll call her “L.”–who lives a country away from me. I’ve talked to her online for about five years, on and off (mostly off); she was a very early beta tester for the first version of my computer sex game.

Well, she’s started talking to me again, after an online absence of some three years, during which much has evidently happened.

And, as these things do, the talk rolled around to sex. It came to pass that she issued me a challenge: Call me. By voice.

Well, I consider myself to be fairly ceative in bed. I have done many things and experienced many pleasures. But the whole of teh human sexual experience is vast; so vast, I believe, that even if one were to sample something new every single night for an entire lifetime, one could do little more than scratch the surface.

So it’s not necessarily that surprising, then, that I’ve never before experimented with phone sex. The fact that I had a deep and abading suspicion of anything not involving personal contact played a role as well; how can a disembodied voice, after all, ever hope to compete with the intensity and raw power of a “real” lover, in person?

How seriously I underestimated the power of a voice when coupled with a creative and fertile mind.

So now, it would seem, I am (in her own words) L.’s “Internet boy toy.” How very, very strange.

My wife finds the whole thing VASTLY amusing.

While idly flipping through the channels yesterday, I inadvertently stumbled across a Birttney Spears video. Howling in pain, I was fortunately able to gnaw off my own ears to escape, but the psychic trauma will, I fear, be lasting.

I wonder, though…

Do you suppose Ms. Spears, somewhere underneath all the training and conditioning instilled by the legions of writers and choreographers and image consultants and media relations people and producers and handlers and public relations consultants and hairdressers and other sundry puppeteers who surround her, realizes that she has sacrificed her own identity to get the fleeting instant of fame she’s enjoying right now?

And do you suppose she cares? One wonders if, left to her own devices, she would even have an identity worth developing…

…I’m becoming a handyman…

Just finished hanging a bunch of floodlights in my photographic studio. I feel like I’ve been doing nothing but home improvements and construction projects all week.

Hung track lights at the girlfriend’s house when we went up for Thanksgiving, then she and I sat down and designed a suspension frame. She’s really into the idea of suspension bondage–being tied and helpless, suspended horizontally off the ground…heh, heh, heh.

Ahem. Anyway, three trips to Home Depot, one truckload of lumber, four design revisions, and two days later, we had built a large, easily disassembled, rock-solid suspension frame. It’s about seven feet long, five feet wide, and six and a half feet tall, and it’s perfect for those times when “bound and helpless” is the only style that will do.

I’m very pleased with it, considering it’s only the second construction project I’ve ever attempted from wood. Eventually, I’ll get around to putting the plans on my do-it-yourself sex toys page.

But still, I’m supposed to be a computer geek, not a handyman! This manual labor thing…I dunno…