Tag Archives: Mrs. Feve

Life, Living and Loving: Mrs. Feve’s September Song Project II – Ravel’s “Bolero”

As a formally and classically trained musician, studying orchestral music was pretty mandatory including The Masters: Bach, Beethoven, Chopin, and others; the music we hear today has its roots in the classics.

I remember watching the movie, “10,” starring Dudley Moore and Bo Derrick and it was, I guess, a bit ahead of its time and probably gave the movie censors a fit. One of the highlights of the movie was the notion of making love while listening to Bolero. Musically, the piece is… sensual but not in some kind of “bump and grind” way – and that, too, is also a title of another song that’s, ah, more to the point of things.

For anyone who saw “10,” let’s see a show of hands for all those who did, indeed, tried to make love while Bolero played in the background! Yeah… me, too, and let’s say that the results were… mixed, at best. There’s a lot of music out there one can make love to but there’s a kind of a trick to it.

We listen to music but for music to be able to arouse – and in any way that’s applicable – you have to be able to feel the music; it has to touch you in certain ways and in certain places: It has to move you and the more it moves you toward sensuality, eroticism, and sex itself, the better. Then, there’s a particular way to listen to music that’s involved – hear it, feel it, but not being focused on the music. This can be difficult if one isn’t able to, well, kinda multitask and sex is one of those things that doesn’t always lends itself to multitasking, not through any fault of the people involved but it’s just the way the mind tends to work.

It’s like, “Look, we’re either gonna listen to the music or we’re gonna (add something sexual here)! Make up my mind already!” So it didn’t surprise me a whole lot that the partners I tried this with were either paying attention to Bolero… or paying attention to what I was doing. For myself, the “listening without listening” thing was just second nature – it’s one of the things you wind up learning and more so when a piece of music says, “with feeling” and now you’re trying to do this while playing your instrument and while listening to the interactions of the other instruments (if applicable).

I recall asking my high school band director, when we went from marching band mode to concert band mode, “When they say ‘with feeling’, who’s feelings are we talking about? Yours as the director? Mine as the performer? The concert band as a whole?”

He laughed and said, “Good question but to find the answer, listen to the original piece done by, say, the Philadelphia Orchestra – and, as a matter of fact, we all should listen to it!”

Um, my fellow band members weren’t happy that I managed to pile something else on us – learning the piece we were playing was difficult enough. But we listened and, as instructed, listened for ‘with feeling’ meant. It’s reading the music, playing your instrument, keeping an eye on the “maestro,” and listening to your fellow performers so that the band, as a whole, can play the ‘with feeling’ parts as one single entity… and no matter how you, personally, are actually feeling.

Now think about trying to apply this to having sex. Bolero isn’t what I’d call a complicated piece, you know, not like listening to Bach’s Brandenburg Concertos. It’s… sensual. Moving. Has a feel to it along the lines of mood music. Kinda. If the sex that’s needed is the, ah, very vigorous type, Bolero isn’t the piece of music you wanna be listening to. If the sex that’s needed is, indeed, the slow, sensual kind, yeah, it could work but the timing of the piece might not be all that slow – it’s written in 3/4 time and a time signature probably best known for waltzes and, yeah, it was originally written for ballet. So it could be slow enough and it might not be. But there’s another trick here and that’s to ignore the piece’s timing – your body is almost going to want to move in time with the piece’s “beat” when it should be moving to its feel or, really, how it’s making you feel and with the hope that your partner will not only be able to feel it in some way but can get in sync with your sense or feel for the music.

Oh, yeah – it would help if ya had a liking for this kind of music. My “Bolero partners,” well, they weren’t fans of this type of music; never listened to this type of music, never heard of it – unless they watched “10” – and some of them hadn’t. Sex, like so many other things, is about timing and, of course, it’s the kind of timing that one employs more by feel than anything else unless, um, you’re one of those people who are prone to think about the number of seconds or minutes required to orally induce your partner to orgasm. If so, well, hmm – Bolero’s time signature and the flow of the piece is going to throw you way off.

Having sex – or making love, if you prefer – to Ravel’s Bolero is quite the exercise and, in a lot ways, it can be counterintuitive; long and slow sex can be, well, very slow and Bolero’s signature just might be “too fast.” It sounds kinda Zen, perhaps, but it’s about being one with the music, letting it surround you and be immersed in it… while doing sex stuff. Listening without listening; feeling both the emotion of the piece while mixing in the emotions of passion and lust and love (if applicable). It’s being able to figure out what Bolero is saying to you, while your partner is, hopefully, trying to do the same thing – and then, again, being in sync with each other and the music… while not losing focus or being distracted.

Don’t feel some kind of way if you can’t do it: Most people can’t and my first time making love to Bolero was, um, quite the learning experience; it’s kinda like having to learn how to make love all over again – and I’ll leave it at that.

If you were to give this a try, I’d recommend that you first listen to Bolero and pay attention to how it feels to you and if you can get a partner to listen to it as well, so much the better. As a musician, well, this is kinda easy for me to do and so much that I often catch myself getting the feel of a piece of music and it’s interesting since I’ve learned to do that without having to think about it. That and I also happen to love this kind of music. There are, of course, all kinds of music that can be… suitable for lovemaking but if there’s a piece that gained some notoriety, it’s Ravel’s Bolero.

And, yeah – that part of the movie was pretty hot and sensual. Bo Derrick was just drop-dead gorgeous and sensuality just oozed out of her while Dudley, well, hmm, okay, it just wasn’t all that hard to figure out why he was so obsessed with her as well as why he also felt that he wouldn’t stand a snowball’s chance in hell of being intimate with her. Don’t take my word for it – if you can, watch the movie even if it’s just to refresh your memory.


Posted by on 5 September 2020 in Life, Living and Loving


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Life, Living and Loving: Mrs. Feve’s September Song Project II – Waiting for the World to Change

As a bisexual man, wow – I’ve been waiting for the world to change for a very long time. I love the song by John Mayer, both musically and lyrically. It’s one thing to know that, in this, the world has needed to change and should have changed a very long time ago; it’s another thing to know that, one day, the world is going to change their minds about this not being straight nonsense.

It’s another thing to also know that there are a lot of people who aren’t willing to sit back and wait for the world to change; they want to know about this and they want to know what it’s like… and if, as they are of a mind to think, it’s the right thing for them.

I write that it’s not like we – collectively – don’t have a clue as to how diverse humans can be about having sex, being in love, stuff like that. We do whatever we need to do in any of this and even if it’s in clear defiance of the status quo. We know it. We’ve always known it. And we keep being all bitchy about it because that ain’t the way things are supposed to be.

You’d think that once homosexuals won their hard-fought battle to be recognized and treated like everyone else, that would have been the impetus to get the world onto the path of changing their minds about that which they believe in this… but, no. Well, wait a moment; perhaps it’s better to say that there’s not been a worldwide, wholesale change in mindset but as change is wont to do, it happens slowly and regardless to any resistance in its path.

It’s just that the world ain’t changing fast enough, that change is, again, long overdue. I think it’s not so much a thing about accepting that both bisexuality and bisexuals are real; it’s more of a thing of us stopping all this bullshit over something that cannot be stopped… and any more than it was tried to stop homosexuality. We have such a long history about our dislike for change; for every person who is okay with a change, there will always be someone who is very unhappy about that same change.

There are an untold and innumerable group of people who are fervently waiting for the world to change; they need it to change and the sooner, the better… and I’m wondering if we really and truly need the world to change its collective mind about the reality of bisexuality and bisexuals and more so since so many of us are of a mind that we’re gonna be bisexual whether anyone else likes or approves of it.

And, yes – as I’m writing this, the song is playing in my head and is on repeat. It’s a song with a message and one that, at least to me, says that we need to be better about a lot of stuff and the reality is that we’re just not there yet and it doesn’t look like we’re gonna get there any time soon.

Even within the dynamic of bisexuality, things are changing… and not so much and, as you know, I find it fascinating to see how it’s been changing, from the way I grew up with it to the way it’s being handled today… but how some things, again, hasn’t changed one iota. Not because those who find themselves being bisexual can’t accept the change in their mindset and/or behaviors… it’s just that there are still a whole lot of people who are unable to. The dynamic has taken a turn and one that, when I think about it, well, I’m not sure if it’s a good thing or not: Applying heterosexual norms to something that, by its very nature, defies those same norms. No casual sex; only sex in a relationship setting or otherwise trying to put the bisexual genie back in the bottle.

I’m not saying that it can’t be this way… I’m just saying it doesn’t make a whole lot of sense for bisexuality to be handled only in this way. It is what we know and even bisexuals are having a difficult time changing what they know so that it better fits the way they want to be… or the way they can be.

Call it impatience but a lot of bisexuals, again, aren’t of a mind to sit on their asses and do nothing while waiting for the world to change. Many have learned – and are learning – that, really, one does not need the world’s permission to be who and what they want and/or need to be – and no matter why they’ve effected this change for themselves. Maybe a lot of this has been born out of instant gratification? If this is the satisfaction you need right now, what’s the point and purpose in waiting for the rest of the world to get onboard with this?

Does one really need a permission slip? Is the change of acceptance just some pie-in-the-sky wishful thinking, like, it would be great if the world did change so that no one would feel bad about being bi and not all that likely to get their head handed to them because they are? Sure… that would be nice… but if I were you, I wouldn’t be holding my breath on this one.

Because while we do have a long history and habit of resisting change, we’ve also been of a mind to do what we gotta do and if anyone doesn’t like it, well, tough titty. Bisexuals – and for the longest time and due to the lack of change – have been of a mind that they’re gonna do what they gotta do and by any means necessary. Fly under the radar? Fine – if that’s what has to be done, so be it. Be all out in the open with it? Great if you can manage to do it and keep your head on your shoulders.

The song is still on repeat in my head… because many of us are waiting for the world to change… and maybe we shouldn’t; maybe bisexuals should be agents of change and, just as homosexuals did, force change and keep pushing for it no matter how long it takes…

And, in the meantime, lots of men and women are gonna be getting their freak on in this dual mode of human sexual behavior. The only fear they should have is the fear of not doing what they want to do… and then throw that fear out and do it anyway and if the unchanged world doesn’t like it, well, fuck them.

I’m gonna get mine whether the world changes or not; why wait when, truthfully, you don’t have to? If the “same old shit” ain’t working for you and making you feel whole and complete, why wait for others to say it’s okay for you to change when you can be your own agent of change because one thing is quite true:

Those who fail to change will be left behind.


Posted by on 3 September 2020 in Life, Living and Loving


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Life, Living and Loving: Mrs. Feve’s September Song Project II – “September”

If this is the second go-round for this, I obviously missed the first one… or maybe I just didn’t pay any attention to it. Anyway… music as a muse; a great topic for someone who’s a musician.

So… “September,” a song by Earth, Wind & Fire. Bouncy. Lively. Nice groove and the Phoenix Horns strutting their stuff. Oddly a song some music critics didn’t like so much… but who asked them? It’s music I grew up with and from a group where you knew their music would be so good that when your heard they had a new album out, you went and got it as fast as you could.

I was born in September so the title, if not the song’s lyrics, tends to resonate with me. I had to really sit and think about exactly when the song was released – 1978 and on their greatest hits album and probably as a “filler” kind of piece and, usually, groups use such an album to introduce new music that didn’t make other releases.

1978 was a rough year; unemployment was pretty bad, lots of weed being smoked and, I thought, because the “let’s get high and just chill” thing was a good idea given the strifes of the time. All anyone wanted was a break, that chance to get their foot in the door and those who didn’t have a high school diploma or GED, let alone a college degree was finding it very difficult to get a job making any kind of “decent” money… and even if you had one – and like I did – that wasn’t a sure thing.

But in the music of the time, a lot of people found a way to escape the craziness and this particular song, with it’s bouncy beat and groove as well as its horns – something else that was a thing in the 70s with groups like Chicago and Tower of Power – well, it was a nice song to listen to, that and Earth, Wind & Fire had a way of “sneaking in” messages in their songs that could inspire or otherwise say to you that you just just hang in there and everything will be okay.

The song, to me, was about remembering happier times and I remember hearing the opening lyrics about the 21st of September and quipping, “What, you couldn’t have said the 23rd?” which, of course, was the day I was born. And, indeed: With the way things were going back then, remembering happier times and, yeah, even doing a lot of dancing, was better than worrying about getting a job or where your next meal was coming from or having a roof over your head.

If nothing else, you could always count on Earth, Wind & Fire to come out with a song that could lift your spirits or get you thinking about being in love. It was fun to get their latest album, throw it on the turntable, and just sit and listen for that one song that would mean something to you. The musician in me didn’t always pay so much attention to the lyrics and when I first heard “September,” I was deep into the song’s arrangement, using that special ability many musicians had to be able to single out the different parts and even see the notes in my head and as if the sheet music was right in front of me.

If nothing else, it took my mind off of whatever might have been bugging me and the song had a nice beat to walk to when I’d trudge my way to the restaurant I worked in. Sitting around with friends and family and just listening to their music was like an oasis of sorts… and a little wine and weed didn’t hurt much either.

“September” was a song from a time that, when compared to today, was actually easier in a lot of ways… but not without its own moments that sucked and not in a good way; for those who lived it, bleh, shit could have been better and a lot of people were falling into the pit of hopelessness. But this song, and like many others written at that time, was real music performed by real musicians and led by Maurice White who just seemed to have a way with music and lyrics. He could reach you, touch you with his lyrics and for the more upbeat songs, could get you on your feet and dancing like no one was watching you.

Because for a lot of people, there just wasn’t anything else to do.


Posted by on 1 September 2020 in Life, Living and Loving


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Life, Living and Loving: Mrs. Feve’s Memoir Project – Open

It’s the finale of Mrs. Feve’s memoir project and I like her sense of humor to use “open” to close the project. It’s actually been a couple of days between my seeing the email announcing this prompt and my writing my thoughts on it because I had to think about “open” and in many contexts while trying to link the word to a memoir-like moment in my life…

Which, for me, was realizing two things: I was not only bisexual but very bisexual… and I loved it. We talk about being open-minded or being open with others and those things are comparatively easy when matched up with being open with yourself… about yourself even when there just might be something about you that those around you, well, let’s just say that they’re not gonna pat you on the back – or ass – and tell you how amazing you are.

Before the moment I had to be open with myself, there were the moments I had my eyes opened to know, realize and maybe even confirm that sex was not only “da shit” but it was even more so when you could have it with both boys and girls and putting the question in my head of, “How can something that feels so good be so bad?” That in reference to males having sex with each other; the boy/girl thing was just an instant hit and understanding and the only question was, “When can I do this again?”

I didn’t know it had a name and until I discovered that it did, uh, I really didn’t care if it did or not; what I knew – what I was learning – was this sex with “everybody” thing was even better than the “Jimmy Jet” toy I got when I sent in the required number of boxtops (batteries not included). Knew it was wrong, wasn’t supposed to be even thinking about it and, like many of those around me, didn’t give a damn about it.

I had my eyes opened, ah, somewhat later down the road when doing a book report for school, I had to go to the public library for the book I was gonna report on. Somewhere along the line, I ran across a word I didn’t know the meaning of so, as we’d been taught, I went to the gigantic dictionary that sat at the front of the library and started flipping through pages… and in doing so, came across the word “bisexual.”

After reading the definition like three or four times, I blurted out, “So that’s what I’ve been doing!” My exclamation was loud enough to get heads turned in my direction and earned me a scalding look from the librarian at the desk. Upon the discovery of this word, my whole view of things just opened up before me and setting what would be a life-long task to know everything there was to know about bisexuality, not just in myself but in other as well.

Even to this end, it was eye-opening to be on this path and thinking that I was the only one who knew about sex like this… then having a “duh” moment to realize that I wasn’t and the evidence of that had, um, conveniently been overlooked but I understood it: I was too busy having way too much fun to have noticed what should have been obvious.

“I am bisexual.” After discovering the word, it took me a bit of time to be open with myself and say those three words, not because I was in denial about it but I now understood my sexual behavior. I was very much okay with it but my eyes and mind were now even more opened about the elephant in the room and one that not only people were seeing but were trying to “kill…” and literally so in some cases.

Homosexuals. Homos. Faggots. Queers. Sissies. Even bull dykes. Sitting down and reading the bible and learning of the religious prohibitions and the gruesome punishments being promised while now being open to really notice how so many people just hated anyone who wasn’t straight… and I was one of those people who wasn’t straight.

My eyes and mind were sitting wide open, not just about sex but about people. Us. Humans. How just downright nasty and even violent we can be toward each other and more so when you were different… from the color of your skin as well as a great many things that also included how you had sex and who you would have it with.

While I’d learn that a lot of people like me could have a hard time being open with themselves about being bisexual, the hardest thing for me to accept was the outright hatred towards anyone who wasn’t heterosexual and how many would be accused of and persecuted for being a homosexual when they really weren’t.

My mind was pried open to reveal how… totally ignorant – and dare I say scared shitless – we can be about something that, as I’d eventually learn, was just another aspect of human behavior. Being open with myself about this was, for me, pretty easy and, I think, more so when I was into it up to my pretty brown eyes before I knew the word existed.

Better late than never, huh? I went from feeling like I was the only one who was like this to, duh, realizing that I wasn’t… and then to wondering if I was the only one who understood this part of the sex thing. Eyes opened more to eventually learn that others did understand it… and I wish I could have closed my eyes and mind so that I wouldn’t have to be exposed to the hatred many others spewed toward anyone not heterosexual.

Today, bisexuals are up against it and just like homosexuals were and, as such, they worry about things that I didn’t have to contend with since, at the time of my “birth” as a bisexual, it was more of a joke than anything else, something that was somewhat dismissed out of hand: People seemed to know that there were other people who went both ways, batted for both teams and were switch-hitters… but no one took it seriously and for those who did, well, you were a gay faggot queer who should be put to death.

Bisexuality did more than to open my mind about sex and the evil that men do; it opened my mind and enabled me to see that, as Mr. Spock would famously say in a movie decades later, “There are always possibilities…” I could see the world in a different way, my view not being obstructed by dogma and unfounded opinions and in ways that allowed me to see solutions to things that were, more often as not, as outside of the box as I was sexually.

But, okay, yeah – I understood sex, my eyes opened to the natural beauty of it as well as all of its ugliness and an ugliness brought to the table by those who, it seemed, didn’t or couldn’t understand what sex was really about and how the mandatory boy/girl way wasn’t the only way to experience both physical and emotional comfort via sex. My eyes were even more opened when I realized – while giving a guy a blow job and, typical of me, all late and wrong – why women tend to behave the way the did when you wanted to get into their panties. The guy was, to me, going out of his way to make something I found to be pleasing into anything but. Then there were the guys who do or say anything that’ll get you naked so they could subject you to their lust.

I even had a guy tell me, “If you suck my dick, I promise not to cum in your mouth!” Yeah, right. He came in my mouth anyway but that was okay since, for one, I didn’t believe him in the first place and, for the other, that’s exactly what I wanted him to do. Same with those guys who’d say that they wanted to fuck… but they weren’t gonna stick it in… and then they did but, again, I knew they would… but, yes, indeed, my eyes were very wide open to the bullshit men put women through just so they could bust a nut in them.

And through it all, I saw the importance about always being open about this with myself or, as a late friend of mine used to say, “You can lie to anyone you want to… but there’s only so much lying you can do to yourself.” It had become obvious that this was the greater crime one could commit and one that, by comparison, made the “crime” of taboo sex look insignificant. I may or may not be of a mind to let a whole lot of people know that I’m one of those “freaky” bisexuals; they either don’t need to know or it’s none of their damned business.

But I don’t lie to myself about it and I saw, with open eyes, the value in this decades before bisexuals today find themselves struggling with being open with themselves and worry their asses off over what everyone else is going to think and say about them and just because they not only like opposite sex stuff – they like the same sex stuff, too.

I am bisexual. I’ve been this way for a very long time now… and my eyes are still open as is my mind… and I remain very, very open with myself about it. “Why would you want to suck a guy’s dick?” is a question I’ve been asked more times than I care to remember… and being open about it – and with myself about it – prompts me to respond with, “Because I can… and it feels good to do it. What… do you really believe that women are the only ones who like sucking dick? Really?”

Open your eyes. Open your mind. See the reality where it lives. I did… and I still do… because nothing else makes any damned sense at all.


Posted by on 11 August 2020 in Life, Living and Loving


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Life, Living and Loving: Mrs. Feve’s Memoir Project – Out

Three AM… and I’m looking for Mrs. Feve’s next prompt… and there’s nothing. Did she decide to stop the project or something? I started to ask her then said, “No, wait, wait…”

I’m still wondering if she thinks of these prompts and says to herself, “Oh… I’d love to see the look on KDaddy’s face when he see this one!”

The word covers a lot of things in my memories, including the way I pronounce it with a more… French pronunciation but not as out there as Canadians pronounce it and, yes, I blame high school French for getting me to pronounce “ou” like “ooh” and not “ow.” The funny part is it gets people asking me where I’m from and I sometimes get the stink eye because they don’t believe I was born and raised right here in the United States.

Of course, there’s the ongoing drama about bisexuals coming out but, okay, I’ve been out for decades now and so long that I no longer remember the exact moment I said to myself, “I don’t give a fuck who doesn’t like the fact that I go both ways!” Keeping my mind in the gutter for a moment, when thinking about what I was going to write this time, the Certified Dirty Old Man in my head said, “Well, you know, when you put it in, you gotta pull it out, too…”

No kidding? Wow… didn’t know that…

“Out” is such a common word that, at least for me, it doesn’t spark any one particular moment when this three-letter word had a memorable impact outside of the fact that my sexuality got me out of the box that most people are locked into.

Out of time. Out of luck. Being assed-out. Left out. Going out. On the outs. In some ways, out signifies a sort of finality or ending; it’s another word for being excluded, like being the odd-man out or it’s a transition – you were inside and then you went out… but you, at least temporarily, quit being inside.

The Certified Dirty Old Man reminds me that being out in a sexuality context meets that last part I wrote… and like I wasn’t sitting here when I typed it.

Being out in left field – what an odd phrase that is and one that has a connection to baseball. Three outs in an inning, three strikes and you’re out and, yeah, the odd twist of being out can put you into quite a mess. Being out of your mind, just another way to denote craziness and/or insanity and taking the word one step further to thinking out of the box.

There’s being out there and being out of bounds which, depending on the person, can be both a good and bad thing and, of course, there are quite a few sports where going out of bounds is definitely not a good thing, well, unless you’re a wide receiver and you voluntarily step out of bounds to avoid that 200-pound freight train that’s looking to put some hurt on you.

There’s those out of body experiences where one feels detached from their physical self; being on the outside looking in comes to mind as well. Even as I write this, that little three-letter word is bouncing around in my mind and trying to stick to something but I think it’s such a common and well-used word in our vocabulary that there are probably a gazillion things where the word “out” was involved.

Being in love… then falling out of love; an object in motion remains in motion until acted upon by an outside force. Running out of gas, both literally and being very, very tired after exerting one’s self. Then, of course, there’s being outside, outdoors, in the great outdoors.

The Certified Dirty Old Man, who owns the gutter, is whispering to me about some more… intimate outs and I’m trying not to pay attention to him but, okay, we’ll go there for a moment so I can finish with this.

When I was nine – and just before my 10th birthday – I’d got hit by a car and knocked silly and from my perspective, the car came out of nowhere and, despite my parents saying otherwise, I did look both ways before dashing across the street. I was on the move – then heard someone say, “Look out!” – and the next thing I knew I way lying against a telephone pole with a lot of people standing over me. The people who hit me took me to the closest hospital and my father arrived and me and him had it out about whether or not I really did look both ways; then, later, the doctor who stitched my head and chin – and the only injuries I suffered – telling me when to come see him again to get the stitches out.

A few days later (and quite a few Mr. Softee root bear floats), I was with my “girlfriend,” Shirley, who had come to see me and, um, ah, ahem, she wanted me to do it to her and I was more than happy to since I was officially grounded so I could heal up and not allowed to go out.

I was so in love with Shirley and once our bodies were joined, oh, yeah – loved her even more. Now, this wasn’t the first time we did it so it wasn’t like this was unfamiliar to us. Dick going in and out of her, we’re kissing – and with lots of tongue – and the world couldn’t get any better. I felt that… good but funny feeling wash over me but I barely paid any attention to it; I’d felt it numerous times before and knew it would pass in a moment, I’d take a nice deep breath, and keep going… but this time, it was different.

Very different.

My heart started beating really fast and my whole body started to shake and tremble; I was having a really hard time breathing, and Shirley’s lovely face was blurred and out of focus… and the feeling wasn’t getting better – it was getting worse. Much worse. I was losing control of my body and like it couldn’t make up its mind whether to keep moving in and out of Shirley or to just stop moving; all the while, my brain is trying to figure out what the is going on: Am I dying? Is this my punishment for being disobedient and having sex when I wasn’t supposed to or, really, um, the punishment was finally catching up with me for all the sex I’d been having with both boys and girls?

It was like something exploded inside my head and I panicked because now I couldn’t see and I knew – or thought I knew – that my eyes were open. Heart pounding so hard I could hear it in my ears and I had no idea what my body was doing other than shaking and shivering like I was really cold and had stuck my finger in a socket. I was dying… and I was sure of it.

Then everything started feeling better, well, kinda better. I don’t remember pulling out of Shirley but I did, sitting next to her and breathing like I’d been outside running like the wind; I was so… confused that I didn’t know she was talking to me until she shook me to get my attention.

“Huh?” I said – why was my mouth so dry?

“You did it! You did it!” she exclaimed and I remember her smile so very well.

“What did I do?” I asked, deepening my confusion.

“You shot the baby-making stuff in me!” she said and as happy as if she’d found a twenty dollar bill on the sidewalk. “It came out of you and went into me! Do it again!”

Yep – the first time I busted a nut and that white, gooey, stuff came out of my dick and, um, yep, inside Shirley who made it a point to have me look between her legs to see it starting to ooze out of her and I dimly remember thinking that there was a whole lot of the stuff that came out. It wasn’t that I didn’t know about the dreaded baby-making stuff but I thought it was some shit adults made up to scare us into not messing around with sex but, wow… it was for real and my mind quickly put together that now, when I put my dick into… um someone, that white baby-making stuff was gonna come out.

Hot damn! And we did do it again… and even more of the stuff came out and Shirley and I were over the moon and, yeah, out of our minds about it but, okay, when she said, “One more time!” there wasn’t as much of it that came out in the end but, yeah: I was in the big time now and as I found out a few days later, I was the first among us to have the baby-making stuff come out.

Eventually, I’d learn what happened. I even remember, many years later, talking to a doctor about when I became sexually active and he had asked if I remember the first time I ejaculated; when I told him I did remember it (vividly) and that I was nine when it happened, he looked puzzled and mumbled something about that shouldn’t have happened at that age. But I had told him that I’d been hit by a car a couple of days before that moment and all he said was, “Okay… that kind of explains a few things…”

Like getting hit by a car and getting my noggin rattled shook something loose before it was supposed to? If there was a huge, gigantic “out” for me, well, that was it and while I’ve forgotten a lot of things over the years, that moment is one I can’t forget but, like they say, you always remember your first time.

The Certified Dirty Old Man is happy that I got this out and I think he’s looking around for a cigarette… but I’m back to ignoring him and thinking about that out moment compared to the moment that got me out of the straight box and into the bisexual one.

Out. The opposite of in. Many connotations. So common in its usage that one rarely ever thinks about it even when they get to the moment when they run out of words…

And just as I have just done. Back to you, Mrs. Feve!


Posted by on 30 July 2020 in Life, Living and Loving


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Life, Living and Loving: Mrs. Feve’s Memoir Project – Animal

The word conjures up a lot of thoughts and particularly about Zane, our cat that passed away suddenly a month or so ago; I still find myself looking for her.

My next thought – and other than Mrs. Feve shouldn’t be awake at 3am – was that we are all animals but we think we’re above the other animals that makes up life on this planet. I thought about political animals and how many of them seem to be suffering from a bad case of rabies these days.

But what I really thought about are the memories of what animals have taught me about why humans just tend to make a big deal out of that which other animals do naturally and as a matter of survival.

My mind flashed back decades to a moment when a bunch of friends and I were outside and, knowing us, doing our level best to find some trouble to get into when these two dogs came trotting along, stopped right in front of us and, well, the one dog started fucking the other dog. Everyone just lost it in some way; they were either laughing about it or feeling very disgusted by what they were looking at and all the while, the dogs were going about it and if we weren’t standing there gawking.

We make such a big deal about sex and have gone out of our way to demonize something that is, in fact, natural but what makes us different than those two dogs is that we can do it just for the fun of it and not necessarily for procreation and I’d eventually learn that we’re not the only animal species on the planet who has sex just because we can. Others in the animal kingdom who are, ah, sexual rebels, don’t discriminate between male and female and experts have studied the famous bonobo monkeys who pretty much flaunt their bisexuality in the face of the rest of the animal kingdom… including us.

Yet we go to great lengths to distance ourselves and to not see ourselves as the animal we really are. I think about Zane and how she bonded to me and, well, I guess to her, I was just a funny looking cat and perhaps it didn’t make a difference that we were two different animals. We’d get pissed with each other, play with each other and she’d spend a lot of time just lying on my feet, purring happily and without a care in the world… because that’s the way it’s supposed to be and a continuing reminder that we’re not as all that as we like to think we are.

In that memoir kind of way, we are magnificent animals and my life is full of moments where that magnificence has shined… and where that magnificence has been dulled and sullied because, unlike other animals, we’ve not yet learned how to get along with each other and to not let our differences divide us and make us contentious. Take a pride of lions, for example: If you’re part of the pride, it’s all good and outsiders, well, not all that welcomed. They have their own power struggles and orders of dominance and when you think about lions, the first image that pops into your head is the one with the huge mane, the king of the jungle and all that… but the real power in the pride lies with the lioness and you only see the competitive fierceness in male lions when it’s mating time. We laugh – or maybe even cringe – about a male lion going from female to female and hitting it, you know, provided she doesn’t turn around and bitch-slap the fuck out of him a few time and just as we tend to cringe to see two males fighting over a female.

And humans, as it turns out, aren’t all that different except, given our advantage of having a more and highly developed brain, we can somehow justify acting like the animals we try to insist that we don’t really behave like. It’s not one endearing memory or memoir kind of thing with this particular prompt…

It’s a reminder of that which we don’t think about so much; we are all animals and no matter how much or how hard we try to distance ourselves from the other species on the planet, eh, we’re really not all that different or even civilized as we like to think we are.

It’s the one thing that has stayed with me ever since that day we watched those two dogs fucking and without any concern, fears, or even shame because they were doing what they were supposed to do. Another day, yeah, wow – we saw two male dogs trying to hump each other and while the others were pretty much losing their minds over the two “faggot” dogs, for me, those two dogs taught me something about being human and to not be ashamed or even afraid to do that which, in fact and in deed, comes naturally to a lot of animals.

And the persistent, constant memory and realization that we think we’re better than all the other animals on the planet… and we aren’t. Not so much a memoir but a lesson in life itself and one we all should learn, that we can be human without all the dumb shit we bring to the table. Zane could be totally pissed with me one moment… and happily at my feet and purring the next moment. There wasn’t a day that went by that she wouldn’t piss me off one moment and in the next one, I was petting her and, yeah, even talking to her. We were two different animals but we found a way to not only get along but to co-exist together.

If only the rest of us could learn to do this so that if the day comes when we really do sit down and write our memoirs, what we’ve learned from other animals will play a part in our lives.


Posted by on 20 July 2020 in Life, Living and Loving


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Life, Living and Loving: Mrs. Feve’s Memoir Project – Big

I had to really do some thinking on this one. I thought about big dicks and big clits because, you know, my mind tend to not just live in the gutter – my mind owns the gutter. But it didn’t take a whole lot of time to think of something more… appropriate.

Like the day I literally ran into Kareem Abdul-Jabbar.

Like most basketball fans, I’d followed his career from his time at UCLA to his entry into the NBA with the Milwaukee Bucks and then on to the Los Angeles Lakers. Just one of the great basketball talents to ever play the game and his famous Sky Hook was unstoppable (well, until Dr. J did the ‘impossible’ and blocked one during a game with the Sixers).

So I was on a business trip to Green Bay and a class on how railroad tank cars were lined to protect the tank car’s metal body from whatever was being put inside. My boss had decided that I needed this education to have a better understanding of what we did for our company and as a part of him expanding my role in our two-man team.

To satisfy the gutter, I will say that my very big-clitted girlfriend arrived in Green Bay to spend that time with me but that’s a story for another time. Anyway, I spent four interesting days in Green Bay and beginning with my flight from O’Hare to Green Bay… in a prop-driven commuter plane and what turned out to be the worst landing I’ve ever experienced when flying.

The pilot bounced us all over the place and at one point, the twin-turboprop plane threatened to take off again. I’ve been in turbulence that wasn’t that bad or scary! It was so bad that the pilot didn’t open the cockpit door (as they normally did) and it was good that he didn’t because I had some choice words for his ability to land an aircraft.

My classes went well and I managed to pass all the test and was now certified to inspect interior tank car linings and it’s time to fly home but my flight out of Green Bay was delayed for about fifteen minutes – nothing serious – but it was going to make getting to my connecting flight a close call, making me think about calling our travel department to arrange another flight home if I missed the one I was scheduled for.

The good thing was that once we landed at O’Hare, I didn’t have to worry about my baggage, allowing me to bogart my way off the plane and rush through the terminal to get to my connecting flight’s gate. Head down, walking as fast as I could without breaking into a run, I’m dipping and dodging all the other travelers and a glance up showed me that I was gonna get lucky – the gate my flight home was leaving from was right in front of me!

All I had to do was turn the corner and get to the gate desk to check in when, the next thing I knew, I was sitting on my ass! Clearly, I had run into someone and hard enough to knock me down and the shock of my ass hitting the floor dazed me for a moment. Then I hear a voice say, “Hey, are you okay?”

I glanced up… and looked into the face of a very concerned Abdul-Jabbar! Even I as I told him I was okay and we were both profusely apologizing to each other I was thinking, “Holy shit… this dude is way bigger than he looks on TV!” I mean, I’d watch him play and you could easily see how he towered over most players but he didn’t look… sturdy, if you know what I mean.

Running into him proved that he was a lot more sturdy than he looked. He took my hand and literally lifted me off the floor and onto my feet – yeah, he was much stronger than he looked, too! I’m getting dizzy looking up at him but the thing that popped into my head was to not ask him for an autograph; I had read that he could be some kind of way about that so I thanked him, apologized again and he smiled at me and said that he’d love to talk more but he had a flight to catch and I replied that I had to get to mine as well.

Off we both go. I get checked in and in time but as I made my way to the gate to take a seat – and to be all “fan boy” about meeting the great Kareem Abdul-Jabbar – there were some folks in the area who worked at my company and, I guess they recognized me somehow because they came running over and blurting out, “Do you know who that was?”

“Yeah, I know who he is,” I said and like it was no big deal… even though it was. My co-workers bombarded me with questions – what were you two talking about? Did he give you an autograph? What did it feel liked to run into him like that?

Shit… it felt like running into a wall – that’s what it felt like! Still, I was having another fifteen minutes of fame since my co-workers felt it… necessary to buy me drinks on the plane once we boarded and got airborne. I even called my girlfriend once we got in the air and assured her that I made my flight on time and, oh, by the way, guess who I ran into… and literally so?

Okay… let me add something about her and what I’ll tentatively call a “big” moment. We’d made love and had gone to dinner afterward and was told that the hotel was hosting a little “party” in it’s rather nice garden, which was along the Fox River and it was, indeed, quite lovely. We’re walking around, kinda mingling, when a rather nicely dressed couple came over to us and introduced themselves and we’re standing there talking when I became aware of why they were talking to us.

They wanted to have sex with us! I picked up on the very subtle hints and when I looked at the husband and gave him a questioning look that asked, “Are you asking about what I think you’re asking about?” he smiled, winked, and nodded… and I thought, “Oh, whew, hmm…” because my girlfriend was completely unaware of why we’d gotten this couple’s attention. They did everything except come right out and proposition us directly and, to be honest, I was game… but I didn’t think she would be so when they invited us back to their room for more drinks – and she politely declined – I was kinda relieved but greatly amused.

We were going back to our room and she was talking about how nice that couple was and how cool it was for them to just strike up a conversation with us… and then I told her why.

“Um, they wanted us to come to their room so they could have sex with us,” I said, watching her closely to see her reaction – and it was precious.

“Really? How did you know that?” she asked.

“I gave the husband a “what’s up” look and he looked back in a way to confirm what I was thinking,” I said. “They wanted us… and kinda badly.”

“Well, why didn’t you accept?” she asked – and that surprised me big time. “Let’s go back out and see if we can find them!”

We couldn’t find them but I had to stick this in.

Didn’t get to really get our freak on with that couple, had a great time with my girlfriend while in Green Bay just the same… and I ran into and got to meet the great Kareem Abdul-Jabbar! One of the best business trips I’d ever taken and one I’ll remember for the rest of my life!


Posted by on 20 June 2020 in Life, Living and Loving


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A Negrita's Narrative

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