I Met a Size Queen (penis size)

I Met a Size Queen (men’s penis note)

I have had enough lovers to know this to be true:

Gentlemen, your penis is not your best sex tool. Let me tell you what works better than the length or girth of your penis (there’s a list) :

  • your ears – listening to your lover’s fantasies and trigger points of arousal, mental and physical ones
  • your imagination – taking what she tells you and creating a story or role play to go around it. Doing the same old all the time gets boring!!
  • your caring about her safety and pleasure
  • your sense of humour -cuzz stuff happens when two people have sex and knowing where and when to place a giggle can really help a lot.
  • your fingers and mouth and whatever sex tools you have handy work also. It’s not just your penis in other words. So relax!

So if a lover tells you you’re too small, return the favour by suggesting in all sincerity, that they try doing some kegel exercises and stop being an ignorant bitch!

weird letters

a letter from your ______

Dear gorgeous man,
I know you would love to have a letter from anyone but me telling you how sexy your body is when [I watch you][https://youtu.be/OMOGaugKpzs]  dress and undress, bathe or shower, and make love to your partner.  You are so sexy.  You drive me mad with desire. How could I not fall in love with you? How could I not lust for you?
Your body is such a thrill to see.  And I can’t help wanting to be the one who touches you, licks and nibbles all over you.  I want to feel you deep inside me. I can almost feel it when [I touch myself][https://youtu.be/wv-34w8kGPM].
You [drive me crazy][https://youtu.be/0sw54Pdh_m8] . And all I want, all I can think about is being with you.
There has to be a way!
So I’m going to come up with a plan for us to be together. Even if it means getting rid of those who stand between us.
I just know if it was just you and I, we’d have a perfect life together. You’ll see.
Shopping list:  1
ropes, gags, knives, sedative, needles, branding iron
shopping list:  2
 hand gun.
Which list shall I use?  Who shall I take to my cabin in the woods?  And will the person who is buried there, stay buried?
Please be my love. **I’m coming to get you**
Your stalker.
.. . . . .

the last letter (a story)

(when she was going thru her late husband’s effects, she found this letter.)

Dear J,
As long as I can remember, I have been in love with you. From the first time I saw you, till the day one of us dies. And since you’re reading this, that must have been me. For that I’m sorry. I guess I couldn’t keep my promise that I’d never leave you.
I was so proud to be your life partner. You are such an amazing woman. Full of life and love. Such a beautiful caring soul.
You never shamed me as a wife or a mother. You were full of energy and wisdom. And you showed such tenderness and caring.
We were always mad for each other’s bodies. Even after all these years. It embarrassed our kds to know how often we kissed in front of them, how often we showed PDAs. And we smiled and told them some day they’d want to do the same things with their partner.
It was such a joy to be with you, my darling. And I want to set you free now to love another, with the lessons you learned from me and our love.

We’ll be together again soon, my love

(She was bawling her eyes out, in anger, confusion. Her name was Barb, so who the hell was J??)


. . . . .

Dear Sir….
I am a hitman for hire.  I have been given a contract to  kill you by your wife. To prove this to you, I’m going to tell you what your wife had arranged.  It struck me as personal.  Not my usual request. Or methods.
Your wife had arranged for me to have a needle of your insulin brand Humalog Novolog Apidra.  She wanted me to inject you with it and when you had overdosed on it, surround you with your fave candies so it looked like you had gone on a binge.
She said your fave candies are soft peppermint chews, chocolates with pecans in, licorice and raspberry gummies.  You’d know if that’s true.
Since you have caused her such worry in your refusal to cooperate with the doctors’ plan for you and failed to listen to her, she has run out of patience.
This is the wake up call. Your wife is serious. And you now know she is. So either you be a good boy from now on, or I’ll take the contract.
Your potential hitman…
. .  . . .  ..
Dear agony aunt…
  • Dear agony aunt,
  • I’ve been driving myself crazy with all sorts of fantasies I know can never come true. With visions of naked men like they’re sugar plums waiting to be plucked from the tree of life.
  • And wondering why they never ask me out or want to talk past the first few web notes. What shall I do dear auntie???
  • Perplexed and frustrated,
  • Dear Perplexed and frustrated,
  • Either buy a vibrator or get out to some social event you enjoy and find a real one.
  • Auntie!
 . . . . .  . .. .

Dear NASA,

You must believe there is life on other planets, since you spend so much time and money perving the skies and sending rockets full of people to other planets… So  I was wondering if you thought they have sex the same way we do here? Do you have any theories for what they think is “normal”?

Your fellow searcher,

. . . . . .

Dear fellow searcher,

We have yet to have seen sentient life. Trust me, it’d be on the news if we had. So unless you want to talk about microbial asexual function (which somehow I doubt), I’m afraid we have nothing else to offer.  Now,  fellow searcher, you wouldn’t contact NASA for wank fodder, would you?

NASA Researcher

small town gossip (a story)

Small Town Gossip (a story)

Everyone in the village knew her… Or thought they did.
Each day, Josephina made her rounds of the village. Josephina listened carefully. but also recorded the chat. On her phone and on a small recorder in her purse. She only stayed an hour, so she didn’t have to change the tapes till after she left. And each tape change, she wrote down five things she remembered. To cue her memory.

Her stops :

  • the school. She stopped off in the office to see her long term friend, Martha. Just in time for a cup of tea and a chat. Martha always relayed the stuff of her day. The people who stopped by, the kids who were in the office (not just for punishment) and the deliveries.
  • the church. Again, Michaela, the secretary, and she had been friends for years. In fact they went to school together. She was told so many things in confidence. Sure she promised. Noone wuld ever hear it from her lips. She kept that promise till the day she died. She heard who had come in for counselling or had needed the church’s help with bills or groceries. And who needed a hospital or home visit because they were ill.
  • the pub. The manager, Pietr, and she were on a flirt basis. Nothing would ever come of it. They just both enjoyed the reparte. There she found out who was stepping out on their partner; who drank too much; who had lost their license due to DWIs. And who could be counted on to slip her a little pick-me-up.
  • the town store with the postal center. The store owners, Andrea and her husband Stefan, were always ready with her mail and a cup of tea. Andrea enjoyed name-dropping about who was asking for a tab and whose were running long. Whose kids were little thieves and banned from the store. And which kids asked for pocket money for helping Stefan out with cleaning or deliveries. She saw that often they were the same kids, same families from the other stops she made.

So she went home and put together her notes into a story. These families were often mentioned under pseudonyms in her web blog. She was very careful nobody in her town knew she wrote the blog. She would be run out of town on a rail if they knew!
Josephina was excited to see that her blog was growing in popularity.
The town folk were none the wiser.

After Josephina died…
Her husband, Christian, found her stuff on the computer and in her desk. The wife he always thought was such a loyal friend and lovely woman was telling things about town folk to anyone (literally) in the world who would listen.
He didn’t know what to do. But the first thing he did was close the blog down.
What did he want to do? She was dead now. So she couldn’t spread any more tales. It was all about how he wanted her to be remembered now.
Was she a gossipy old biddy, a bitch or a wonderful friend? He knew he had been shocked to the core at her tittering. And from now on, he’d be far more wary when it came to the potential harm of small town gossip.
In the end, Christian decided to burn the notes and tapes. No one else needed to know all he did.
And he left town. He told his friends there that the town had too many memories of his wife for him to stay. And that was true. Just not the way they thought. He would miss their friends, but he could no longer look them in the eye. So he packed up, sold the house and left. Never to return. He was so ashamed. So heart-broken. How could he not have known?
Was his wife ever who he thought she was? Who he had fallen in love with? He’d never know now. Would he?

searching for ecstasy (a story)

Searching For Ecstasy (a story)

Natasha was a very powerful woman, from a long line of very powerful women. Her mother and grandmother taught her everything they knew after her walk in the land of the dead. Natasha was chosen. She had spirit guides who helped her when people from her area came for help. Most of the time, all they needed was some herbs and prayers and some faith when they had lost theirs. And she was happy to supply those.
Today, she had taken one look at the supplicant’s dead eyes and pallid skin and knew, this would take more than a few prayers. Even with her power in them.
So Natasha went into the bathroom and turned the shower on at it’s hottest setting. And lit candles before she turned out the light.
Natasha sat on the floor and cleared her mind, then started calling out to the spirits she would need. Those who gathered around the gate to the land of the dead and the guides who would help them return. As well as the spirits who would help the woman’s body and mind rejuvenate. She had been clouded by pain, confusion and fatigue for so long.
It was going to take many spirits and much good will among them. So knowing that, Natasha played her small drum, and her small finger bells as she chanted and swayed. She sang the old prayers her grandmother had taught her from a young age. And called to the spirits of her ancestors for help.
When Natasha felt ready, she re-entered the livingroom where her visitor was and held her hands. Smiling in peace and comfort. She was ready.
Natasha fed the woman a tincture and began chanting for the spirits’ aid and succor. She sat on the floor in front of her and swayed thru the postures her grandmother and mother had patiently taught her. Till the protectors came forward and guided the woman away from the gate at the land of the dead. When she could see an improvement, Natasha lit the brazier and drew sigils on the woman’s arms and legs. Then moved her hands over her till she was called to a specific spot. She placed a poultice there and fed the woman a tea with the same foul herbs that were in the poultice.
Natasha sat down again and held the woman’s hands. Hands that were getting stronger and stronger thru each prayer, song and chant. Natasha smiled at her in reassurance when the guides for the journey came forward and drew the soul back to the land of the living. They reattached the soul chord and bound body and soul together again,
Then the spirits who rejuvenated souls came forward to do their work. They lifted the woman’s spirits to fight and hope again. They soothed the dark spirits of shame and fear and calmed her soul so it would be willing to endure. And the woman now looked like she had never been sick. Her eyes were much brighter and alive.
Natasha gave the woman some herbs and lit more candles around them both. She guided her supplicant in prayers of thanksgiving and praise. They sat meditating in this fresh and happy state for a few moments. Then they hugged.
With a few follow up sessions of prayers and herbs, there was no reason why the woman could not make a full recovery.
With each such healing, even though Natasha never sought praise, her reputation for excellence grew.

inhibition (a story)

Inhibition (a story)

It took all my knowledge, all my empathy to pull Scott’s service from him. He had said he was eager and ready to learn. But between cracking wise and his anxiety attacks, I was getting frustrated. But when we talked about his fantasies, he was so enthused, so into it, it was hard to believe that he didn’t really want to do them. So I kept going. Figuring he might just need to trust me a bit more. If that were possible.
It was that moment between wishing and doing that slipped him up. And I didn’t know how to help him. So I asked a few friends who dominated their lovers. They thought it might be anxiety, and not just a sexual thing. Because he could have sex with me. He could do all the separate tasks within the fantasy. He just couldn’t seem to put it all together. He had lost a few dominants due to their frustration. They weren’t willing to be vanilla lovers.
If I pushed too hard though, he would mouth off and blame me for his issues. Yet when I talked to his past dominant, she said I had gotten further than she had. She had to walk away while she still had self confidence. He was a hard nut to crack.
Scott and I would talk for hours about domination and submission. He was a very smart man and totally knew the right thing to say and when to say it. So it wasn’t a lack of interest or understanding. Yes, anxiety was the only explanation.
The only things I could think of bordered on rape though. Unless i had his consent of course… So I opened up discussions about sedating him to get him over that hump. Or possibly a rape scenario. CNC of course. His eyes were glowing. And finally he gave me consent for a rape scene.
I had no doubt that he was into it at that point, but I wasn’t sure he would follow thru. And I was almost out of patience as well. But I felt bad for him. That was the thing with me and relationships. My empathy always made me stay longer than I should. Not to worry, even I knew there was a point when I had to walk away. It was just a longer road for me than most people would endure.
The day came…
I had a couple strong men spot me. Because Scott was a strong and big man. If he panicked or raged, I could be badly hurt. I could tie him down, but as scared as he was, or seemed to be, that might make it worse than it needed to be for him. So we talked about spotters instead. They added to the fantasy of rape for him. He liked the thought of them “forcing” him to concede to my wishes.
The spotters and I chatted about the terms of the fantasy and what I expected and Scott wanted. So they knew what they should be looking for during our time together. They were both subs I had released, and they were kind of glad to be serving me again.
Everyone was in the right head space, so we went to find Scott. ..
He was gone.
I found my cell phone and looked thru my mssgs. Yes there was one from Scott. He said he was sorry, but he couldn’t go thru with it. He hoped I wasn’t mad. I wasn’t. But I was done. For no other reason than I had run out of ideas.

men can say #me too# in my world

and here is why:

[CJI – Community Justice Initiatives][https://cjiwr.com]
[JHS – John Howard Society][http://johnhoward.on.ca]
[Salvation Army – Booth Center][http://www.ottawaboothcentre.org/about-us/our-mission/]
[Youth in Conflict with the Law][http://www.waterloobailprogram.ca/about.html]
[Children’s Aid – CAS][http://www.oacas.org/childrens-aid-child-protection/]
## . . . .
In my past incarnations IRL, I have come in contact with these groups. Groups that deal with survivors of abuse and gross neglect.
You might expect me to be talking about abuse of women and girls, by men, but today I’m not.
These groups deal with transitional (changes in life) men, homeless men, men on reserves and incarcerated men. Men who were abused as children and by the system that was supposed to protect them. But failed to. And now all we can do is play catch up and listen to their stories. And believe them.
It’s not just one man saying he was hurt. It’s many and they need to be heard as well IMO.
There are predators in every walk of life, in every shape size and gender. They abuse their power over people who are vulnerable and seem to be ones few will believe. The abuse takes the form of violence of action and words. It can take the form of sexual and gender/identity attacks.
Sex can be and is a **tool** used by predators and abusers, but it’s not the clear motive. Which is why castration has been deamed ineffective. They will simply find another means.
In every home where an addict is a parent, abuse and neglect occur. The only question is, to what degree. That is the most common issue when people are harmed.
Men are also in same sex relationships. Men are becoming women (transgender) and are very much at risk, They die every day.
Men are fathers who risk themselves to stay with their kids, in a system that doesn’t believe it when they say their wife is the abuser.
So yes, men have been harmed and sexually abused. Molested, raped, and assaulted. As children and adults. And it’s systemic as well as individual. We know this. The groups above know this. They see it every day.
So open your eyes. It’s real. So men can say with full integrity #me too! Let’s hear them and believe them now.

Growing up in a world where femiinism was about protecting the abused and disenfranchised, I hear **people** when they say they have been abused and IMO so should you.

the weirdest dilemma (a story)

The Weirdest Dilemma ( a story)

Margaretta went to the hospital emergency dept, carrying her baby girl in her arms. She had a meeting with the triage nurse at the end of what had been a very hectic day for the nurse.
Well, it hadn’t been a great day for Margaretta either.She had been hearing voices telling her someone was watching her and they were coming to get her all week. She’d barely gotten an hour of sleep all week.
The nurse was exhausted and reassured Margaretta that she was safe. Then made the craziest statement Margaretta had ever heard… The nurse said that people who walked in and asked for help rarely ever needed it. Margaretta’s jaw dropped. The nurse handed her a piece of paper with the book title by Joseph Heller on it. “Catch 22”. She sent Margaretta home to read it. And told her to call her family doctor on Monday morning. And the nurse was happy to call CAS for her and have relief come in and take the baby till she could get some sleep.
So Margaretta went home and downloaded a copy of the book and read it… She waited patiently till Monday morning and called her FD’s office. The nurse listened and said that the doctor was the only fulltime physician in the clinic and his priority was hospital rounds. So if it wasn’t an emergency, then the next scheduled appt would be three months down the road. Or she could come in and talk to a nurse… The nurse agreed with the ER nurse that if she came in and asked for help, she probably didn’t need it. She seemed coherent enough after all.
Margaretta called her mother and sister to cry on their shoulders. Her mom got angry and told her to stop complaining. She said mothers everywhere had to cope and she didn’t see why her daughter should be the exception to the rule. So she should suck it up and get back to her schedule.
Her sister started to cry and told Margaretta that she needed sleep too and had so many men and work problems, she felt overwhelmed most days too. She didn’t see why Margaretta got to complain when she had a beautiful baby who loved and needed her. But if she insisted, auntie would come over and she could have a nap for an hour. Sis got there and instead spent the allotted hour talking about her own issues. Margaretta got no sleep. And sis left.
The baby started teething, and there went the few minutes Margaretta had been able to get in the past week.
So she went to the ER again and found the same damn nurse. Margaretta told her she had read the book. Which she had. But she still thought she needed help and couldn’t get an appt with her doctor’s office. The nurse then suggested a counselling center.
On Monday morning, Margaretta called the center. They asked her about money. Well Margaretta was a single mom on welfare. They did do scale bookings, but it would take Margaretta all she had to get to the appt. Nvm paying the fee. She was advised to call her welfare worker and see about funding. So she did. Her worker said that if she could get a doctor’s note, they’d be happy to see about the money. Margaretta said she couldn’t get into the doctor. The worker said to let them know if that changed. Margaretta sighed.
Margaretta booked the appt at the doctor’s office for three months away. To get the note. To get the funding. To get the couselling. To get the help started that the nurses were saying she didn’t need if she was asking for it…
Margaretta just knew it wasn’t a good thing to be sleep deprived for three months with a young child. I do mean zero sleep, you get that right?
So she called her mom and was told that she shouldn’t have kept the child if she couldn’t cope on her own. Her sis cried again and complained about welfare bitches getting all the perks. Why should her sis help if she had to work and pay taxes for Margaretta, plus babysit so Margaretta could nap? She screamed at Margaretta so Margaretta hung up on sis.
Margaretta knew that hearing voices saying they were watching her and coming to get her was a bad thing. Getting no sleep for months on end was a bad thing. And getting no help was the worst thing of all. But she had asked. And asked. And asked…

I Made a Wish (a Story)

I Made a Wish (a story)

I wanted my life to change. It was seriously going south. So i grabbed an old light and rubbed it till it was clean. A voice asked me just what it was I wanted. I said I want someone dead, he said ask a demon. I said I wanted someone to be my love. He said call a witch for a love potion. I said I wanted a dead lover in my arms again. He said. go visit hell and see if they’d come back to this life again. Be a hero.
I sat, I thought…
I asked how many wishes I would get? He said three, if I asked for what I wanted. And was willing to follow the rules of wishing.
I said the first wish will be for you, but it must be my last one said. Ok…
He said light a candle.
So I did.
I said the next wish is for the world, since I’m no longer sure I can be selfish. He said that that was too large, even for a spirit if his stature.
I thought again.
I asked for my village and family to be prosperous. There was a puff and the candle light went out. He told me to light it again.
So I did.
I asked for good health for me and my family. There was a puff and the candle light went out. He told me to light it again.
And the last one? The one you said was mine?
I said this wish sets you free, if you have honestly given me mine. There was a puff and the candle light went out.
Before me stood a very handsome man. We were at the edge of my village. They were holding a feast at the end of a prosperous season. My family came running to greet me and all were well and happy to see me.
The man bowed and handed me a flower. I smelled the desert rose and smiled at him. He bowed and disappeared.
I realized my wishes that I had begun with had been wasted. I was glad I had changed my mind.
But then I woke up… I was angry, and alone still. And the jinn was gone. It seems the catch of a wish is, there’s no such thing as a wish at all.