child miners

maps of where mines are that children as young as 10 work in in ubsafe and potentially life-ending conditions for gold, silver, diamonds, minerals, coal, copper and cobalt (which is used for your smart phone).  Of course, most are in poverty stricken nations. So the 1rst world can have it’s conveniences and technology. Children who labour, instead of going to school and playing. And just plain breathing fresh air.

the invisible child (a story)

mines BeFunky Collage


The Invisible Child (a story)

Nobody thought of him anymore. They didn’t know he existed after all. Not in such a clean and affluent world. He was covered in dirt and miles under the earth. Where no one would think to look for a child. Weren’t there laws that prevented his being hired at all? Let alone working as long, hard and in as unsafe conditions. Last week, his best friend had died in his arms. Trying to protect him. When he really hadn’t wanted to be protected. He wished he could change places, to be honest. But it’s not like he could make the wish so. No one would notice if he lived or died, but his friend had had family. And now the keening of his mom was ringing thru the village. She certainly had other mothers to support her wail. Who had lost children to the mine. But what choice did they have? It was the mine or nothing around these parts. If you wanted to stay in the village of your birth. It was all the people knew after all.
Now he worked around the ghosts of his friends and the story spirits mothers and grandmothers told of their lost babies, some as young as four years old. He knew where each child had died, and stepped just there to see if the devil mine would take him as well. But so far he was still alive, even if he was buried each day for the consumption of others. Not having heard of hopscotch, he was playing a deadly game of it.
He walked in rhythm to the coughs and rawls of his pale fellow workers and it became almost music in his brain. He wondered if it would sell to the rich who claimed to need the stuff the mines had brought them? Probably not.
He had heard of something called a “smart phone” that had become a new craze and wondered if it was so important when it drew the breath from a child? Did the people who bought them know the price his friend had just paid? Was the fad worth it? His bosses thought so. They kept praying for more purchases.
He shuffled between the condemned spots, torn between being glad he had the job so if he was going to survive, he could eat tonight, and being so furious that a fad could cost the life of his friends and neighbours. His anger was the stuff from which revolutions and wars came from. Yet few of those who bought the phones even knew of the blood on them. And would blame the angry and mourning for their actions, not themselves for their purchase. Funny how that works.
One phone would make no difference, but he wondered how would a boycott affect the mine, if the rich knew that they could make changes, so at least the death their phone caused wasn’t that of a small child.
But they needed small hands, here and in the factory where the phones were made. So women and children were the first hired and the most in danger. For a fad.
He went back to his game of hopscotch, fuming. If he lived long enough, he would pass on this rage to his children. Just as other fathers and mothers were to their children. He wondered how many deaths it would take before violence rose up. And how long it would be before the soldiers came to beat down their cause when it did. It was just a matter of time.

## . . . .
[modern child mining][–en/index.htm]

the rise of the cyborg (a story)

Sometimes I look back at history and the process of inventions and I am worried about the future of humanity. Ok maybe often.

We seem to be stuck in a pattern of alienation and splintering or fragmenting people right out of existance. I can see where convenience became more important than people. I can see where independence became more important than belonging.

Which makes me wonder if there will be a day when we become more robot than human. Will we be a planet of cyborgs some day in the not too distant future? Only enough blood and guts left so any invader from another planet still qualifies us as alive? How much would that be?

Only enough bonding left to self and other, that we can be called a social being.

Will eugenics ever become more than the person who might go on to save the world? Or be the best of a school of art or philosophy? Or has it become so already?

Does the soul exist separate from the body, and if so, can it be transmitted to some other receptacle so it can have a longer life when it is deemed worthy?

Do we need to consider that production and compliance with the govt might have superceded autonomy and family in our social constructs?

## . . . .

Cyborg 25-14- 380 finished reading the philosophical questions and the treatises of earlier times and laughed at their delusions. He thought that no matter what was done, each of those people and each of those inventions were easily replaceable. It was like thinking you could chop the head off the hydra to think you could go back and eliminate one and anything would change. His human ancestors were not only superstitious, but also delusional. The world would be what it was, no matter what was done.

## . . . .

1760 to 1840.

[industrial revolution][]

[and it’s innovations][]

[the timeline][]

[first industrial robot][]
[assembly line][]

## . . . .






the spirit of the salon (a story)

It was her first time at the salon and she was both excited and nervous. Her great aunt was one of the grand dames chaperoning the night. And as a result, she was given an invitation, when she came of age.
Her aunt described the manor to her, so she would know where to go thru the evening.
Inside the front door, in the first reception room was the room where there was an instrument night. Tonight, the performer was playing a flute. So she sat for a bit and listened to it’s soft whispering tone. She had a lovely daydream of tall grass with a light breeze blowing it around.
Then she moved onto the next room. There were small tables with a small board that had pegs on it and decks of cards. She quietly asked a person just inside the door what it was. She was told cribbage. So she watched a few hands to see what it was about.
Then moved on to the next room. There was a poetry reading. She was delighted to find that the Brownings were the poets of this night. She adored their story as much as their poetry.
A bell rang and the people gathered in the hall for a cup of tea and some lovely cookies and sandwiches. By then she was ready to wet her tongue a bit. The air was quite dry.
After the tea, there was a card handed around to everyone with this evening’s discussion topic. She breathed a sigh of relief when she saw it wasn’t politics. But she ducked out before it awoke. She just wanted a light evening. It wasn’t that long since she’d been in school. She wasn’t quite ready for deep topics as yet.
The next room had an artist at his easel. Her aunt had said it was a youngish man named Rossetti . He was just finishing drawing a young woman he had brought with him. And as she sat watching, he wrote a sonnet on the back of the piece. He dedicated it to his sponsor of the evening.
In the last room, they had a magician who was half doing a card trick and half watching the seance which was the main event in the room. He didn’t seem to want them to know he was observing so closely. He glanced down whenever the lady at the head of the table glanced his way. At the end of the seance, he laughed and told the room every trick they had performed. The audience giggled, half in relief and half in excitement. It was still a good show. Whether honest or not. The lady performing was only half way protesting. She had only done it for entertainment, so she didn’t really care if he saw thru her act or not. She lightly patted his cheek as she walked by him and smiled.
And in the final room, there was a sloe gin punch for the ladies and a madeira for the men. Everyone was chatting happily about the evening. Her aunt made a few introductions for her.
One of whom was a skeleton covered with a cape. So she knew her aunt had been tippling during the evening.
Which is what she thought again when her aunt said the man in front of her was a mid-range demon, who was chained in servitude to the lord of the manor. She just stifled her grin by biting her cheek.
But then she looked into his eyes, and saw souls screaming in them.
She woke up in a start. And convinced herself it was a dream. Till she saw the dress she had worn in the dream was on the dummy on the corner. And she’d never seen it before this day!


## . . . .
definition of the aims of poetry, “either to please or to educate” (“aut delectare aut prodesse”). became the backdrop for a wave of entertaining across Europe.
In that vein,
## . . . .
[Catherine de Vivonne,][,_marquise_de_Rambouillet] marquise de Rambouillet developed the rules of salon etiquette.
In a time of social censure and needing a chaperone to engage in respectable contact between genders, the salon was a much needed method of socializing for both genders; and learning for women in salons like those within the [blue stocking society][] . It gave women a chance to learn more than domestic skills and knitting/crocheting. To do more than raise their children and cater to their husbands. It was a wave of feminism in a restrictive time.

the rise of Amelie (a story)

the rise of Amelie (a story)

Hello there,
I came to tell you a tale from my youth. It happened so very long ago. It’s about a night unlike any other one. Yet it began much the same as any other one.
I went downstairs to get a story and a cuddle, before the nanny took me off to the nursery.
Everyone thought I had gone to sleep, as was my wont to do. But for some reason I was restive. So I crawled up to look out of the nursery window. It was a cool crisp night. The kind where if you got snow in your land, it would be coming quite soon. You just knew it by the air and the way it moved.
The stars were sparkling, the night sky was ebony and everyone but me was asleep.
For some reason, I looked up further into the few clouds and saw some kind of flock coming toward the house. I say flock, but they didn’t seem like birds to me. So I watched.
Ok shame me for my childish imagination, but I pinkie swear what I say to be true, and the fact I still remain above ground should be enough to say something odd took place. But there was a little pale boy and a bunch of goblins! I shook my head, yet here they came toward our lawn.
And on the lawn, I saw a bunch of faeries gathered as if they knew the boy and had gathered, to greet him perhaps?
Yet he didn’t look pleased to see them. But then he cackled so, and my spine just made every effort to crawl up and hide in my neck, the laugh was so evil.
I looked for a battle, but instead I saw a dance-off begin. Much like at mother and father’s parties, when they let me stay up a bit to watch.
It looked like some dance of pride. Some bow to begin, and they began their rounds of seduction and greeting. I giggled as I always did when I saw good courting.
Then the dance began with a great step , and the one side showed the other which dance, with the music, was to begin their frolic.
They were like chickens and roosters in the yard, avoiding some areas and plucking seed from others so they would stay there for a few steps. Some territorial dispute perhaps? They seemed to be showing the edges of the battleground.
They swung each other around as if in a feud over some deep misunderstanding. Perhaps that’s the point at which greed stepped into the dance? But whatever it was, it was a deep passion.
Just like the chickens, they were hopping and strutting as if they were putting on a show to entrance the rooster with their verility. Or was it the rooster who was the show off? I giggled again.
I think the little boy heard me, as he looked at the nursery window. So I ducked down for a few minutes.
When reassured he was engaged in the dance again, I peeked over the edge. There had been a change in the dance. Some form of march or promenade had formed.
I was beginning to see why it was the adults were the only dancers at a party. Unless there was a folk song. There was a real sense of flirtation in some of the songs. It surprised me that some of the village elders allowed the young adults to perform these risque moves. I was blushing in my innocence. A sense of in and out began between the chickens and the roosters. As if they were about to rut like the farm animals did. When mother or nanny would turn my head away, till we were past that section of the yard.
Finally, it seemed like the side with the pale boy had won some victory. The other side succumbed to their lead. And bowed their heads as they were led away.
Just as I was about to go back to bed, the pale boy flew to my window and stared into my eyes with a hypnotic glow and I was spellbound to him.
Then I softly fell into bed and he flew away, leaving nothing for the whole show but a frost on the window.
In the morning, my nanny said in an off the cuff way, “Oh it looks like Jack Frost was here last night”. I replied, “Is that who he was?”. She looked at me askance, so I told her about the dance.
My nanny laughed at my tale and said I should tell the story to my parents when we met at breakfast. I was crushed.
I’ll leave you to judge, if the tale is true, For whatever or whoever the boy was, or if in my dream or not, I am still here over 300 years later…

. . . .

## . . . .
Victorian dances and etiquette for the curious.
Dance Etiquette
Please follow the Victorian social customs when dancing:

• It is expected a gentleman will dance the Grand March, the first waltz and the last waltz with his lady.


• It is expected all dancers will participate in some dances with other partners.

[fox trot][]

• A lady must be escorted to and from the dance floor by her dance partner.


• A gentleman will never approach a lady to whom he has not been properly introduced.


• A gentlemen may ask a lady’s escort or any male member of her family for an introduction.


• Any such request for an introduction may be refused.


• A lady may capture a gentleman’s eye through discrete, ladylike gestures with her fan.


• A lady will never engage herself with a gentleman to whom she has not been properly introduced.


• A lady should honor commitments made to gentlemen on the dance card.


• A lady may refuse a gentleman’s request for any dance.

• A gentleman should accept such refusal gracefully.


• Gentlemen should remove their sabers and spurs prior to the first waltz.


• A gentleman should refrain from smoking, spitting, fighting, or using colorful language on the dance floor or any other location in the presence of ladies.

chocolate (a story)

There once was a man who had no feelings, didn’t want a relationship, took no risks, and would rather feel pain than joy.
He had a job that covered his needs. He needed no more than a roof over his head, comfortable seasonal clothes and a needs-must diet (meat, starch and two veg) so he wouldn’t die of starvation or scurvey.
He said women were trouble, so he never dated them. If it weren’t for his characteristic of loyalty, he wouldn’t see even his own mother. But every Sunday, he stopped over for dinner to see if she was still alive.
And when he had an itch, he rubbed one off. He planned on dying a virgin.
He said there was no such thing as friendship, so he never went to clubs or engaged in hobbies. For exercise, he went out for a brisk walk. There was no such thing as fun. Dreams and hope were for children. He was a grownup after all. Duty and loyalty were his buzz words.
His mother put up with his attitude for the most part. Except, she refused to bow down when he insisted that he could not have a sweet as dessert. Well it was her house, so she would have chocolate on the table. He said it was too sweet.
So mother decided to investigate and find ways of making chocolate more palatable for this boring man. She tried mixing the chocolate with different things so it wasn’t sweet,, but still tasted good to her.
## . . . .
[bitter and sweet diet][]
one of the following – ginger, mint, cinnamon, nutmeg, chilis, coffee/espresso beans, nuts, orange/lemon/lime, bacon
with dark, bittersweet chocolate
## . . . .
Being a man, he was more interested in the ones that were fatty, like nuts and bacon. And he did like his coffee now and then. So what harm would it be if she made it with chocolate?
When he said yes, she reminded him that life and love were like chocolate. Bittersweet. The sweet tasted better if there was a foil. And the bitter was palatable with the sweet, but rarely on it’s own.
But to be honest, she hoped that the chocolate would soothe him. She had yet to meet someone who could resist the mmmmm-ness on their tongue. (Is there a word for that?)
When she served chocolate with bacon, he did get that drool look on his face. And actually took some time before swallowing it. That was a good sign. But he assured her it wasn’t the chocolate. And considering that men do have different tastes than women, he might have been telling the truth. Men do love bacon.
Mother introduced him to women from her church. But all he ever did was be unfailingly courteous to them. Well he had been raised right. She patted herself on the back.
She talked him into a Sunday evening stroll in the park with her. She knew there was a ball game there. He glanced over it and continued the walk.
Finally, she talked to her doctor…
She was in her worried mom mode. It appears it could be just that someone had hurt him. Which just meant he needed time to heal. But there might be something deeper wrong.
## . . . .
## . . . .
She tried to get her son to go to the doctor, but like a lot of men, he refused. And the doctor had said, she couldn’t force the issue. He had a job, he ate, he slept. Seemed pretty functional. To everyone else though, his life was pretty dang sad. Especially to his mom.

oooops! he fell down! (a story)

OOOOPS! He Fell Down! (a story)

Noone but her lover and she knew about their affair. They both appeared happy in their marriages, and by most standards they were. At least content. They and their mates were well off, healthy, fit, had all the kids they wanted and an attentive spouse. One who still wanted them, were involved sexually as well.
Maybe it was just wanting something strange, well at first. But they became hooked by the fetishes they both enjoyed.
But that’s not the real story. It’s not about sex or romance, or even a selfish person who had to have their way. Damn the costs. You’d think so. But it’s not.

Her husband was a busy man, with a lot on his plate. He’d made enemies and friends. But you know, there comes an age in life when not everyone in the world thinks you’re so adorbs they want to smush your cheeks and hugs you up. You might be a bit brash for their tastes, or whatever. Usually not a biggy. Or they might have been passed over, when you got your promotions, so they are jealous. Or maybe someone has a crush on you and your lack of interest has made them really really angry. Or you might be a liberal and they are conservative and they think you’re a dolt cuzz you have that mindset in your politics and world view.

Life happens in other words. And it’s usually not a big deal… till you show up dead one day at the morgue. Then all these things and people become motives for a death no one can figure out. There are no wounds, the tox and drug screens come back with no concerns.
You are a fit person. Your lungs, and heart work well. And yet here we are. You’re dead. And someone must have done something.

Your cause of death? Well if you had been able to speak… you would have mentioned that loud noises startled you and made your face, neck and knees go weird. Depending how loud they were, you might look like a drunken sod as you tried to stay on your feet. Or how you got used to not laughing because it made you sloppy on your feet, a clutz, and people looked at you like you should be ashamed for drinking so early in the day.

You were just at the point when you were thinking seriously about calling your doctor when you died. So no one knew what you knew. And as a result of your cataplexy, when you were downtown one day, picking up flowers for your wife, and a gun started blasting off, you had a crisis. You fell to your knees, at the edge of a staircase. You couldn’t stop yourself from falling. Your neck snapped in the wrong direction, because it was in an odd place to begin with due to the condition no one knew of. And during the fall, your neck was broken. You died instantly.

There was a suspicious death inquiry. They suspected poisoning or someone slipped you a drug to make you less able on your feet. People had motives, right? Especially your wife. They always look at the spouse first. She was having an affair, and you had a decent insurance setup. She was meant to receive your estate, for herself and as guardian of your kids.
Until she ended up in jail.

It’s almost poetic justice, in a way. After all, you’d be pissed if you knew she was cheating on you, wouldn’t you? You sure wouldn’t want her to receive all your money and custody of your kids, when she was nothing but a liar and a cheat, would you?

I can almost hear you laughing now 😛

running man (a story)

Running Man (a story)

Every night he had the same dream.
He was running away from some monster and woke up screaming. His wife soothed him and he would go work in the den for awhile, till he could calm down.
When asked to describe the monster, all he could give was emotional cues, never an idea of what it looked like or what caste of fae or demon it was. He just felt threatened, terrified, horrorstruck… and had no way of getting away from it, or hiding. Some nameless, faceless monster. With no hope of things improving or changing.
His wife begged him to go get therapy, so he finally did. He talked about his feelings, his marriage, his childhood, his stressors… She gave him a prescription for anti-anxiety meds. They didn’t work though.
He went to the family doctor and had a work up, again at his wife’s request. Well, threats really. She was almost as sleep deprived as he was. So blood draw for organic issues, EEG, ECG. a neuro exam. A friendly chat about finding ways to calm down in his life. The whole “get a hobby” speech doctors give when they can’t explain what’s wrong.
Nothing in the Western med paradigm was helping, so his wife suggested a naturopath. Again, he attended under duress. They talked about his diet and exercise regimen. He said the place he got the most exercise was in his sleep. She asked if he was actually moving his legs when he slept? Were the bed covers messed up when he woke, like he had been running? Yes, they were.
She recommended a sleep study. He went to a clinic and was wired up for sound, and spent the night there. He had “the dream” and was left to “sleep” thru it. He was very active in the dream state. Which concerned them, because most people are paralysed during the REM state. They asked if he had ever sleep walked as a kid. He called his mom and she said yes he had, but grew out of it. They gave him a prescription for a sedative that helped his body to be more restive. And kept him there to see if the meds worked. They began to, so they sent him home.
He put up with them for a few days, but he hated the groggy and funky feeling they gave him, so he stopped taking them.
Several weeks of anti-anxiety meds, a few days of sedatives, years of sleep deprivation and a history of sleep walking as a child… Any guesses as to what happened?
Not long after, his wife woke up one morning, feeling better than she had for a long time. So refreshed! She ran her arm up beside her and realized her husband wasn’t in the bed beside her as he still should be. She double checked the time.
So she went looking for him. Not in the kitchen, not in the den, not on the back porch where he liked to have his morning coffee.
She called his office. He wasn’t there yet. So she called his dad’s house. He often stopped by there in the morning to see if his dad needed anything, before he went to work. No he hadn’t gone there this morning. She was getting worried.
So because of the recent history, she called the police. With a quick call to the doctor’s office, they put out a medical advisory BOLO on him.
Several hours later, two officers showed up at her door. As soon as she saw them, she started to cry.
Her husband had been running, as if some thing or someone had put the fear of God into him and run straight in front of a semi. He was scraped off the road and taken to the morgue. It took some time for the police to match the information about the guy in pajamas at the morgue and the BOLO they had.
Now she wished she had nagged more about staying on the meds. But her first thought was…at least she’d be able to sleep now. She shivered and chastised herself for the thought.
For the rest of her life, she’d have to wonder if he would have been better off with just the dream, or if he should have stayed on the meds.

in the year of our lord 2017 (a story)

in the year of our lord 2017

A social scientist comes to year 2017 to get an understanding of sexuality in the 21st century. These are the sociologist’s reports about specific practices back to her time.

Report: Glory Holes

Sociologist: 3420 Planet: Earth
Year of our lord: 2017

In a back alley, full of dirty shops and doors that lead nowhere, I found a place that catered to men who wanted anonymity to the point where all they wanted to see of their sexual partner was their penis. Or their mouth. So they put holes in the walls at hip height and had knocking codes to enter.
The mouths went thru a day on their knees, servicing the penises. Never knowing anything but streams of jism. Some swallowed the orgasm and some refused. They weren’t willing to risk the STIs that went with their occupation. All they tasted was sweat and urine, instead of cum. Hours of every day spent sucking dirty men for a few dollars so they could afford to live. Some must have frozen their jaws many times.
Other than that, the hazards of the job were splinters. It’s not like the edges were well planed, after all.
Now and then, men would lay in wait outside the mouths’ door and beat up a man who exited. Just to make the point that they were the ones in charge. It wasn’t enough that they wrecked the muscles in their throat to the point where some had difficulty swallowing and keepng things down. The lumps and lesions weren’t enough either. No, they had to beat the mouth to show they were the supreme penis and they must obey.
Now and then the procurors would give the mouths or a penis a beating. To take a wage from a mouth or because a penis was trying to withhold payment. And now and then, they followed the penis home so they could blackmail them.
It was a very isolating experience just to keep their public lives separate from their sexual needs.

Report: Down Low Poker Parties

Sociologist: 3420 Planet: Earth
Year of our lord: 2017

Each of the men was married, had children and a life of being a straight man they wanted to protect. For whatever reason, they needed the straight cover. Was it family obligations; religious piety and it’s guilts; fear of exposure…?
But at these evenings, they had a chance to be authentic with their friends.
They rode their friends fast and put them away wet. Bareback. As the lingo of the day spoke it. Almost to the point of self sabotage. There was a real risk of STIs which would have broken their lives apart. They were fine if they stayed a small group of friends they had known for years. But everytime they invited a new person into their group, they risked their lives again.
It was an era of male posturing and being straight was part of that pose. Macho was a key attitude, and not being macho left you open to more than getting teased. It could have you beaten to death. Left as garbage in the street.
So these poker party nights were their way of being true to themselves and reducing the risks.
But even there, they had rules so they were straight men having gay intimacies. Not gay men being themselves. Or even bisexual men being themselves.
They could explain it by too much alcohol or drugs. But they kept returning. Knowing the homosexual acts were part of the night.
It was just sex. Not an affair, no more than a friendship. Not even really that affectionate. It was like a bell rang, the penis came out and one got sucked. Or the pants dropped and one bent over to get their ass raped. Then they went back to being straight men. Buddy buddy, back slapping, beer drinking, macho pals who were having a guy night. While the wives were shopping or home with the kids. Almost utilitarian.

Report: porn trope

Sociologist: 3420 Planet: Earth
Year of our lord: 2017

It’s an interesting disparity. Pornography claims to be for adults, and the laws are built so it must be for adults, yet the person who most benefits from pornography is a young man just entering puberty who has found his father’s stash.
Or the bachelor who has moved into the basement of his mother’s house. He has no other outlet for his sexual aggression, so he faps as they say to girls with big boobs and jiggly butts stuffed with plastic penis substitutes.
Or they chase the elusive blowjob they dream of, seemingly whether they have a relationship with a woman or not.
Spankings are supposed to make the woman crazy for sex, whether it’s oral, genital or
anal sex to the point where she
squirts all over the place. And the circle jerk evolves from a group of teen age boys painting the tile or snow, to bukake . Of course the woman must be really vocal in her enthusiasm, while he calls her foul names. moans
The story might vary but the theme is one of her servicing him, him taking advantage of her, or him abusing her. If there is a female dominance scene, she is screaming at him and he is submissive. There is more chastity in these scenes. As if the dominant man is challenged by the idea of the woman having aggressive sex, so the man serving her needs cannot have sex with her.
Same as the two females having lesbian sex are just looking for the man to join them.
The relationship can be familial or authoritative. (parent, boss, teacher) despite these being illegal. So they play act the roles. Or it can be slavish.
And if they want to have out door or violent sexual relations, they add a large animal to the trope (most commonly bears, wolves and big cats).
But as said, the trope may vary, but the fapper is who it serves best.

. . . .

Hugh Hefner – Playboy
Larry Flynt – Hustler
Bob Guccione – Penthouse

. . . .

Marquis de Sade

Report: suburbanites

Sociologist: 3420 Planet: Earth
Year of our lord: 2017

A couple who has “made it good” in the city moves to the suburbs to have play space and better schools for their kids. And a bigger house.
They have been together for a few years now and are bored with their sex life as well. So they are open-minded when the greeting committee of the suburbs come to them with the party concept they have been doing for years. The husband might have to convince his wife, at first, but she gets into it. Usually sooner than he does, because the men are more welcoming of a fresh body to play with. Women might have more safety concerns with a new man.
In one room, they have a bedroom for guests who want to be alone as two or three, usually. It’s basically the seduction room for new party invitees. To reel them in, before they get into the bigger group events. The room encourages some “slap and tickle” and has cuffs and rope for those who want to explore BDSM a bit.
The room is wired for cameras so the host can watch later. It also protects the invitee who might not be as ready to play as thought. They can confirm that they said stop. Or used a safe word to stop the activity.
The video can also be viewed after a few months by the crowd. As part of their erotic film stash between group events. As a cool down. After the new members are acclimatized.
There is a swingers’ room, where the couple might meet with another couple and decide to be more intimate with them. Also an entry level room for the party. They might just switch spouses and watch their partner have sex with this new person. Or they might have sex with their spouse while they watched and where watched by the other couple.
Then there is the major event room. Divided into two areas, the orgy room has a space for “lookie-loos”. It is meant for new invitees to get used to the idea of the orgy. Also as a warm up space for those who need to get excited before they can act. Or for a between space for those who need a rest due to muscle strain or fatigue.
And a place filled with mats and pillows for the orgy. It may seem like a free-for-all, but the orgy does have usual partners for the activities. A few people might be open to the new couple joining them, so they leave a spot open for them to join in if they wish. There is a lot of massage and oral stimulation. Probably more than there is genital or anal. And there always seems to be that one woman who is getting piled on. In some fantasy of gang violence toward her, but consensual still. She has agreed to be used by multiple partners on this night.
The rule seems to be that these things only occur on party nights. It’s not ok to step outside the marriage or party and have an affair in the neighbourhood. It isn’t meant for cheaters, but to open the marriage. And it seems most people respect this boundary. Those that don’t, find themselves excluded from further socialization in their neighbourhood. Social groups are more important in the suburbs. You have a limited choice of people to be friendly with there. In the city, you can pick another group, if the first doesn’t work out. Not so much in the suburbs. So people tend to behave as the group wishes as long as they live there.

Report Summary

Sociologist: 3420 Planet: Earth
Year of our lord: 2017

2017 has shown us that our theory that sexual obsession was pervasive was true.
Despite the fact that the legal and religious trope was chastity, few people were able to sustain this. They hid their identity; cheated; engaged in sexual commerce at the risk of their lives and everything they valued. They lived dual lives. One protective so they would be free to live the truth.
Sexuality became an aberration, a crime and a commodity the more they tightened the definition of what it was meant to be.
Gangs and mobs treated people who were attractive enough to draw customers as if they were merchandise. Whether they were dead or alive, or of age to be engaged in sexual acts, despite the fact they knew they were breaking the law. Or maybe because of it.
Instead of changing their position, the laws and religious codes were tightened further.
People who weren’t sufficiently attractive to be sold by these groups got involved in bizarred side shows, similar to circuses. People with medical sexual and identity disorders were forced to become clownish versions of themselves to survive in such a stringent world. A world that claimed to be free.
At the risk of STIs that had gruesome effects and medications to treat them that were toxic.
The government went further, by making pills that made sexual acts even more of a demand, rather than considering the needs of the people.
This was the point the world was at, that caused the change of the world. The government was abusing the people.

Signing off,
Sociologist: 3420 Planet: Earth
Year of our lord: 2017