This past holiday weekend while visiting my sister’s family and parents over dinner Sunday night I failed to look shocked when the topic of an acquaintance of my sister’s being a swinger was brought up. “I just don’t approve of their lifestyle” Sis said. BTW there was more to than being a member of the swing set that she objected to and on those points I’d have to agree. Considering the maid of Honor at her weeding was a lesbian she’s usually not one with lifestyle hang ups although seeming has grown more conservative in her old age (she’s now about 33).
I laughed and told her I knew it when I met the couple three years earlier. Explaining that while some people are perceptive and super hero’s all have a special power that if you combined my perception and considered it to be a super power my talent in a comic book would be (ok here’s where you get to use your Superman intro voice …Leaps tall buildings etc) “Picking out Breast implants even good ones in a packed room, stadium, or club. Spotting swingers at a single glance, and combined with an extra ordinary Kinkdar making it impossible for the leather crowd to hide….

Everyone laughed then I declared myself “the Immaculate Saint of Itinerate Souls”. Which was apparently far funnier than I thought. Still gasping for breath from her laughter my mother added “see I told you, you should have started playing Bar Mitzvah’s with your faith healer routine that pissed off the Nuns when you were 12.”
Sadly she wasn’t kidding she wasn’t kidding although I think I was 14 at the time the suggestion was first made.  If nothing else I could have turned sacralidge in to a half way decent living

I’ve decided to finally seek professional help. Yes I’ve been absent more often than not and can’t seem to string together enough words to tell an amusing story. Sure I’m still involved in things many people think I need help with including fueling my entire perverted existence with caffeine, loud music, rough sex and the occasional good night’s sleep. Sure my vocabulary is still questionable at best and rarely can I maintain my full out Zen mode which means I retreat to being an aggressive jerk. All that aside it’s not the type of professional help you might be thinking or the type I more than likely need but its professional help none the less…well maybe. So here we go!

Recently somewhere in the middle of my completely fucked up and chaotic life I had an Epiphany of sorts…or was her name Charity or wait a second I think it was Katie…anyhow. Somewhere between the Belgium accents and pissed off Germans who call me in the middle of the fucking night added to the Aussies who don’t realize there are only a handful of things I’m good at after 9 pm my time and none of them are by and large anything that would relate to business or be considered productive to society as a whole I came to the conclusion that I need to start doing things I enjoy again, running being one of them. Maybe I should put an after hours voice mail on the cell.

“Hi you’ve reached Malflic and its fucking late. Odds are I’m sleeping, drinking, fucking or involved in some other fun but completely deviant activity. Please leave your name and number and I’ll gladly call you back when I put the flogger, cane, or ball gag down”

While I readily admit to being a sadist on a lot of levels there are those hidden qualities that border on other things like masochism. No I’m not going all switch on anyone but the fact remains I’ve been living with and running on a sore foot for more than a year. I’d rather suffer than see a doctor…it’s not a pride thing, it’s not a get off on the pain thing. Maybe its stupidity but I say it’s because I’m intolerant of the medical world’s BS.

BTW If you do get off on the pain of plantar facetious I think you need more help than any podiatrist can offer and I’m not even sure if that’s really an official kink by anyone’s standards. I’ve been around the block shattered a few pure souls and all pain is not the same so spare me that argument. So finally as I decide to sign up for a summer race series and a fall half marathon in addition to new shoes there’s the need to finally get the damn foot looked at.

In my world there are things I do myself and always will. I don’t trust anyone to book my travel for instance. Not my admin, not the Chesty Blonde, Not God or the Devil - No one, no exceptions. And there are things I try never to do…order Pizza over the phone (apparently I have an accent no one who works in a Pizza shop can understand), order at the drive through window of a fast food place if I’m not the one eating (too many special orders. I have neither the desire not the capacity to keep them all straight) or schedule doctor visits.

I ask the Blonde to call and set me up. She offers me the phone number citing my every changing schedule. I suggest I’ll have my admin call – she tells me “that’s stupid and selfish do it your self”

So standing in the kitchen one morning I call at 8:00 am – they don’t open until 9 I bitch about it. She tells me I’m impatient. I call back at 9 and get an automated attendant which is nothing more than a machine that reads me 6 options none of which apply to me and I hit 0 for operator. The fucking thing hangs up on me. I go into a tirade and then call back. The Blonde looks mystified at me. She knows the man she lives with and the prick I am in my professional life are two very different people, its rare she sees that prick type but she begins to get the idea and a refresher.

I call back and choose the “I want to pay my bill” option. I know damn well that if nothing else folks want to get paid and it’s my best chance to get a live person. A live person who then gives me a different number to call to schedule an appointment. Proceed to tell him his phone system sucks and its bullshit I have to call a different number. He hangs up on me and I call scheduling, they put me on hold and never pick back up. I decide fuck it. And call from three more phones since I’m pissed in an attempt to ties up most of their lines. I put them all on speaker and wait…and wait…and wait. In the mean time I look up the Doc’s resume on line…oh he went to Harvard! Big fucking deal Hammer’s dad taught at MIT for decades, I got in to Columbia and fucked more future doctors than Bill Clinton did Arkansas trail park whores (though it might be close).

That’s when part two of the Epiphany hit…Fuck it. I call Corporate big shots , Lawyers and CEO’s every god damn day. All of whom know me and they either answer the phone or have someone who does without putting me on hold for 12 minutes.

I decide to be my own God put on my running shoes and head out the door. At mile 2.25 I run by a medical complex and spot three different foot and ankle specialists. Fuck Mr. IV league he can lick my balls. I can hobble in, in person to one of these other docs on the route back one day if need be.

So two weeks later with race forms submitted and the diet and training program started in earnest I’ve still not seen a doctor. “someday ignoring something will kill you” on friend warns, another bitches at me about not using my health insurance enough and that I should be grateful for it. I spare her the fact that if you factor in my kids and how often they get sick or just go to the doctor there’s no one in the health insurance industry making money on me. We’re at the pediatrician nearly weekly…mainly because the Blonde books those appointments.

Me one day not going will kill me but at least it won’t be of a heart attack from being pissed off while holding to schedule and appointment.

The Dead sang about it.  Morrison said that “People are Strange” and in both cases nothing could be more true

So here’s my life, with everything going on and the impending economic collapse and a quick retreat to a lovely warm and safe socialist political climate I’ve been busier than ever after spending months locked in an office with obscenely sized stacks of dead trees and conference calls with barristers, lawyers and other treacherous business types like me.

I admit that I’m a bastard and a whore. It is what I am even if it is not a life I have intentionally chosen. Now I find myself strolling through mostly empty airports and climbing aboard flying penises of both demure and gargantuan proportions all in the name of profitability.

So as I head back out to the world to work my evil capitalist magic I find my nights are now littered with accents from the Far East, my early morning with the Brits and Europeans. Portuguese has become a soothing lullaby until my translator of the moment speaks in English, which sadly is my cue to tune back in and act like I give a fuck. Which in fact I do actually give a fuck but only to the extent I make money off what is being said, being coin operated is an easy life in the sense since if there is no coin in it for me, don’t expect me to operate.

It’s been late nights and long dinners in private rooms. In order to celebrate my rerelease into my circle of money grubbing pagan friends, compatriots, and cohorts I set out to stimulate our failing economy by purchasing what I expected to be about $1200 in new shirts and $300 in new ties, after all one has to look the part if they are asking another person to spend around 120m a year with them. I walk up to the register and find out that the total was $150.

Now I may be a lot of things but dishonest isn’t one of them and I informed the clerk there must be something wrong. I had 12 shirts and 3 ties. She looked at me like I was the biggest tool in the world “yes you do sir. However they are all on clearance so the shirts are $9 a piece.” So in short I bought a series of 120 items for the price of one. Who says an economic collapse might not be a good thing. Fuck at that price I could buy my neighbors house for 7.5% of its value or a little under 30k (I may hate the Midwest but I do like the cheap house prices) Fuck I could pay cash for his place default on my mortgage and buy it back with a gimmie from the feds right? Oh so it doesn’t work that way? Fuck where a hedge fund manager when you need one!

Any how I take my new dapper look on the road with the usual series of meetings and glad handing. You know shaking babies and kissing hands sort of behavior you’d expect from a guy like me. On one night in particular me and my guest sit around chatting while having the waiter fill up our glasses with a lovely and buttery Cakebread chardonnay that was preceded by a little grey goose and followed by after dinner liquors. Life is good. I’m drinking diet after a few martinis and a little wine but the long and short of it is that three hours later a few of us stride and some of us stagger out of the establishment. Just another night in the life, not all that unlike so many others. A five hour meal, some pleasant conversation and a few drinks. It is what I’m paid to do despite the insistence of the legal and HR depart that it is not “officially” part of my job description. I insist that they have no clue what my job is and that buying liquor is part of it. Recently my boss told me “hell buy him whores if that’s what it takes just try to keep them under a thousand each.” That folks is why I love my boss, he gets it and while the statement was made partly in jest it’s understood that sometimes unsavory things need cared for.

In the coming weeks I replay the same routine with different faces in Dallas a few times, A bird shits on me in the middle of eat fajita outdoors at a trendy Tex Mex place, it was a casual meal and damn good food. Also it was not the first time I’ve been shit on either literally or metaphorically.

I get a “Unicard” so I can slam sweet tea martinis in a dry county and believe I now know more about Whitney who was my waitress than I do about my own kids and the Blonde combined. She was a nice girl with a sweet little Texas accent but apparently asking for a wine list meant tell me about your entire life, all 22 years of it in graphic detail. I knew I should have worn my does it look like I give a fuck t shirt instead of a pin stripe suit with a pink tie. I’m so much more unapproachable when not dressed up. The blonde was somewhat grateful I didn’t come home with the little Raven haired number from dinner. Personally I think she would have like Whitney but then again what the fuck do I know.

A head hunter calls me, perhaps the world isn’t ending. A Vulture capitalist calls me a few day later with an early stage opportunity. In true form I dispense with the Bull Shit and ask the real questions. I’m lucky, I’m employed and I don’t need a new job today like so many people. I can be selective. He called back a few days later. Perhaps its not just vapor ware he was pitching.

Along the journey its Cinco and I call a friend for dinner. There’s a huge party, lots of Latina’s and we’re the only Gringos at the place. At one point a girl in jeans is dancing on the pool table. Three minutes later there are three kids up there with her, it killed the mood. I went back to my Enchilada’s. The next day I’m out to lunch with 6 people (I do go to meetings without food but most often they are not worthy of mention).

I listen to a woman who says she ‘s turning 40 but looks to barely be 28 bitch about her body. I thought she was pretty. Then again I like women who have some curves and well look like women. A few minutes later the Blond across the table from me who was obsessing that she has gained 3 pounds since her wedding and still appears to be a good 10-15 pounds under weight looks up and declares in a bold tone of voice.

“Hey wait a minute. You got my mom drunk!” Now I’ve gotten a lot of people drunk over the years and gotten drunk with more than my fair share as well. By this point based on knowing the ongoing lives of a few of those folks I have indeed gotten several if not a lot of people’s mom’s very drunk. Hell I spent a 10 good years living the best iteration of a non stop party I couldbefore deciding to turn pro and have someone else pick up the tab. To a certain extent I could have written the drinking man’s version of “I hope they serve beer in hell”. Despite that I’ve never once been accused of getting anyone’s mom drunk until that very moment.

So how to react with a few peers and 5 other guests were at the table. I knew the field and the crowd. So being the honest man I am I looked at the little 20 something blond girl, staring right into her dark brown almond shaped eyes and said as plain as day.

“ I Didn’t get your mom drunk, she did that all by herself. Beside I know for a fact she was still 2-3 drinks away from showing me her tattoos.“

I give you one of my favorite poets SweetTalk to get you all hot and bothered.

Comment | Copy This

Now take a deep breath. If you’ve cooled down enough and are interested in more of her works you can find her at http://m.twitter.com/Sweettreat and on my top friends list on myspace as well.

Now moving right along

While I certainly wouldn’t call the Chesty Blonde a classic rope slut in the modern vernacular of the word the dynamic of our relationship works for the most part which is about all anyone can ask for. To her credit she often tolerates my insanity and interests. I on the other hand am a confirmed lifelong card carrying Kinkster. So if anyone knows of an impending deviant round up a la the Salem Witch Trials give me a heads up so I can run to the proverbial hills.

Like a lot of people we have vanilla lives too and included in those vanilla lives is the house in the burbs (which I hate), a couple of kids (that I love very much) and all the other things that go with that setting including the occasional challenge of deciding which alternative lifestyle type friends (Yes AU you’re politics gets you lumped in to that category…just kidding you’ve earned your spot there.) can come to the same parties as our, or more accurately the Blonde’s nilla friends.

For example you can’t have the lesbian couples over with the same people from church (I don’t go other people in the house on occasion do). Or if after going out with some Nilla guys to a bar one shouldn’t explain that the women on the dance floor aren’t lesbians they’re Bi and that there was a swinger social there earlier that evening. It also raises additional questions when you greet the aforementioned Bi Swingers by name when they come over to say hi between the band’s set. What can I say I’m a friendly guy, I know a lot of people, are you buying any of this? Yeah I’m not sure they were either.

Anyhow having avoided flying on a giant silver penis earlier this week I find myself working from home and decided to have lunch with the blonde. After a little soup and salad she informs me that the little one who’s ten had questions about what was under our bed. Of course I had to think about what it was first.

“The Bed Posts?” I asked not certain why that mattered. After all we took the tall bed posts off for the most part a few years ago. Maybe I was suppose to put them in storage umpteen months ago and forgot about. Unlikely but not impossible.

“No the box of rope Mal”

See the byproduct of an active sexual lifestyle and a few kinky habits is the tools of the trade. I have a night stand with enough things in it to start a small adult toy store complete with a nice fetish section and enough rope to dock an air craft carrier. Then there’s the rope bag in the closet, the surplus toy back pack and add the Blonde’s top filing cabinet drawer and night stand and then you have a pretty good idea.

Often when traveling together she worries if we die someone will inevitably find those things and what they will think. I think they’ll figure out that we probably had sex and might have liked it. Sorry but the post mortem thoughts of me should be ones of a pious couple. Loving yes. Sexually unimaginative, No!

“So what did you tell her?“ I asked seeing as I’m the one who the kids typically ask the odd questions to. It was nice to not be the one doing the explaining for a change. Just a few weeks back I was tasked explaining what swinger was in a way that was understandable, honest, and appropriate for a 10 year old. The follow up was “are you a swinger?” the answer was equally as direct “No” which then turned into “Uh OK. Can we have Sushi for Dinner?”

“I told her it was for your book cover” – it was an honest answer. That particular box of ropes was for the book cover. Not the play ropes but simply things I bought for the book cover and sadly haven’t used since (I love the colors but like other rope types much better).

Getting back to my desk I contemplate whether or not to move the box. If so how do I answer why we moved it. Guess it all really comes down to whether or not I was suppose to store the big assed screw off bed posts somewhere else which I’m in no hurry to do since they can be put back on in about 10 minutes and are so much better to tie things to.

I’m a strong believer in fair warnings. That said if you’re a newer reader and of strong religious convictions this might not be the post for you. If you have a sense of humor about religious matters or simply like heresy and sacrilege then by all means read on.

Mal

Its not that I’m not a festive guy but when it comes to holidays most often I’d rather call out for Pizza, gulp down a few soda pops and stare mindlessly at sports on TV than anything else. Now I like a good party as much or more than the next guy, to me good parties don’t involve the need to push religion, go to church, or pray for anything other than my mercy. In which case prayer is probably ok since its to me and I get to enjoy your suffering. Ever doubt that god is a Sadist? Look around! A good holiday includes heavy drinking, something other than baked ham, a multitude of raucous parties to choose from, scantily clad women, and things that go boom, crash, or bang. And like a good party a good holiday has a nice palpable amount of sexual tension.

It might just be me but religiously themed holidays tend to miss that mark ever since the fall of Sodom and Gomorrah.

Which brings me to the topic of Easter and or Bunnies. The holiday I most recently survived as a pagan in the holy land of the mid west; a place where there only thing there is more of than banks is churches.

This holiday started like so many others. I woke up which all in all is usually a good start. A pot of Coffee and Two mindless movies (Old School and Back to School) before everyone else woke and off I went out to gather breakfast while the good god fearing folks were in church.

Then came the family obligations… it really is difficult being a pagan in a Christian world. Just a week before at a party some one pointed out a nice young lady in her mid to late 20’s and said she had known her since youth group. I told them that’s too bad I thought she might be a fun girl. They vehemently insisted that she was until they realized what I meant. They blushed, I grinned like the Devil.

Now I know there are all types of Bunnies. I had a fuzzy white one named Dana as a kid. There are longer eared, fluffy, short hair, Playboy, Easter, and my favorite - Bondage Bunnies. Now I like playboy bunnies but that’s not the topic at hand its the fact that yet again the day that celebrates Bunnies like no other was filled with chocolate and food and the never ending competition of who loves Jesus more the the Presbyterians, the Baptists, or the New evangelical types that stalk my neighborhood. Despite all these religions duking it out in God’s name there was not a single new bondage bunny for me to play with at any of the festivities that I attended.

It’s disappointing. It’s like wanting a new toy on Christmas and getting a fucking GAAP text (Generally Accepted Accounting Principals). Oh sure there was the requisite hot but totally nuts brunette there to tempt me, the generations of family gathering in celebration, violent ground acquisition games played as people pushed and shoved in the pursuit of a magical money bearing plastic egg. I choose not to participate for fear of trampling the young and elderly. Rather I watch from the sides standing near a blazing bonfire with my most frequent of addictions in hand – caffeine.

It was in fact a pretty good day. This city boy went to the country. I got to see chickens (hot sauce and deep fryers were not involved), talk about killing stuff, and gambling (which despite my many vices this is not one of them) and there were even chains involved. Usually when chains are involved I’m a happy boy but this time it was to pull a car out of the mud with a tractor. Lame American made cars in bondage isn’t even my idea of a good time.

If only some mythical creature would have left me a few new bondage bunnies all would have been perfect. Oh well now its time to gear up for the next big holiday the immaculate feast of things going stupid fast and intoxicated loose moralled spectators. It involves things might go bang, catch fire or blow up, The Indy 500. Sure its not Shibaricon but fast cars and drunk girls is never all bad in my world. Speaking of which I still need to pay Hammer for my tickets off to write him a check.

Finally a postlude

Before the “Jesus Saves” crowd freaks out AGAIN and starts spamming me (again) with liturgy based mumbo jumbo or intending to save my pagan godless soul I am not claiming to be god or a deity of any sort. I’m happy that you love the lord, that’s great keep loving him and being happy about it I’m not trying to stop you. I love a lot of things but I’m sure don’t want all the details so spare me yours OK? Yes I know I’m going to hell the nuns told me that in second grade.

Last time I checked I was still living in something that roughly resembles America albeit that is the case less and less everyday. Well except for the Government being representative of the people, the constant tinkering with broken tax codes to “even things out” (say it together folks SOCIALISM) and the executive branch deciding which company deserves to be saved like a wanton harlot sinner at southern tent revival meeting. Except she is quite content to to be a whore (General Motors and Chrysler) and sees nothing wrong with it ( AIG and Most of Wall Street) as long as you continue to give her money no matter if services were rendered or not.

Still as patriots and good god fearing people, unless like me you don’t believe in god, think modern justice is a twisted farce and know damn well that I am Santa Claus in my house, now bring on the woodland fairies so we can engage in a Meade fueled drunken orgy. No Pixies either? Fuck it. It sucks to be a disbeliever! How about some Vodka, and three Bi female swingers two of whom have rock’in implants? Damn right comrade I love America! However I digress, are we, or more specifically am I a threat to our (once) great nation.

Join me on my quest to find out if I in fact am an enemy of the state.

Lets start with this. A lovely report published with much ballyhoo and back lash before falling by the wayside for other blurbs about some necrophiliac rabbi and what certain senators may or may not have been aware of while dolling our hard earned tax dollars to AIG. The Report was issued by the great state of Misery.

As many of you know I’m not a fan of this flyover state…I find it well dull, uninspiring, backward, and overly and blatantly Midwestern. And I mean that in the least flattering way possible. (I can hear the other flat landers telling me to go back…gladly!)

You can read it if you like but essentially. Blah blah blah…Guns. Here’s an idea stop fucking people over and you won’t have to worry about their guns.

Blah Blah Blah something about a “New World Order”. Which even though I’m not a wrestling fan have in past years flipped through enough TV stations while sitting aimlessly in a hotel room to know that the New World order is just a bunch of guys in tights running around sweating and grunting while pretending to hurt each other. Its like a big gay spandex clad dungeon party except there aren’t any whips, testicle clamps or safe words, and there are more voyeurs than normal. Not my thing but apparently my state considers this a big deal. Afraid of juiced up guys in tights. Next thing you know they’re going to tell me the WWF has something to do with saving Bambie and not clubbing baby seals. Still I’m not big on grown men in tights unless…well actually there’s not an Unless. Mark this one off I might NOT be suspect here.

Blah Blah Blah…Supporters of Ron Paul. OK Republicans from Texas seem to be a big concern. After 8 years of Bush I get that one. Once again I’m actually safe.

Blah, Blah, Blah, Sons of Liberty…I’m not sure if I have any of their music but I have the Sisters of Mercy’s Greatest hits. Does that count? If so Sing this Corrosion to me!

Now lets see some of the things I probably am Guilty of

I’m opposed to Federal Income Tax…I’m opposed to most things I have no say in or control of that are forced upon me. Vegetables at dinner as a child for one. So check the list for that one. Guilty and damn proud of it. Some how I have the sad sorry and twisted idea that my job is to make money for myself and not to help out the rest of the fucking world and for the record mom technically watermelon is a fucking vegetable.

The report featured a lot of guys in Cammo. As a Kid I owned GI Joe Dolls and Cammo Pants Actually in my Junior year of college I had a room mate who had a fetish for ROTC Girls in BDU’s I’m not sure thats a damning fact but certainly is disturbing on so many levels that I’m bringing it up yet again nearly 20 years later.

Do I believe there is a master conspiracy…Hell no no one could fuck things up this bad intentionally. It was done by a bunch of self serving jack asses with different agenda’s. Its not a conspiracy its stupidity.

Do I believe in the economic collapse of the United States…Really you have to ask that? Have you seen the News in the last 10 Months. How about your 401k statement? Which reminds me I need to finish filling out my bailout request for the feds. I like to call it my Basic Income Growth Personal Emancipation Negative Income Support or B.I.G. P.E.N.I.S. Support plan to those in the know.

After all how would the world survive without another albatross proforma based use of tax payer money littered with obscene bonuses? It couldn’t then there would be nothing else on the news to be outraged about.

Lets take a closer look at how very dangerous any one of us might be.

Can you read? If so that in an of itself is a problem. Its too late to deny it since you’re looking at this part of the page and it doesn’t contain pictures and wasn’t created with crayons.

Speaking of Crayons. Did you ever Intentionally color outside of the lines. I did in kindergarten and it was a tale tale sign of my Anarchist Anti Establishment tendencies. Who’s have guessed that miserable fat bitch teacher would be right.

Do you actually have thoughts of your own? Your in really big trouble then. There is very little more dangerous than a person who thinks and forms their own opinions.

Have you even been in a chat room? Yes but there was no politics going on. Speaking of which just last week a woman sent me an unsolicited picture of herself tied naked to a rack and asked if I’d like to whip her. Adding her husband won’t mind since he’s a fan. Funny I didn’t know I had fans and it seems like an odd way to start a correspondence but it was in fact memorable. On Second thought its no more odd than asking strangers for money through the mail which happens everyday.

Sure there’s more reasons the Government might actually worry about me. I don’t think I ran right out and spent my stimulus check from George W at Wally World. I do crazy rebellious things like showing up to vote. I’m a registered member of a major political party. I’ve written checks to support candidates who I liked and agreed with (mostly on a state and local level). And tell every one that’s listen how screwed up everything is and we all need to get off there asses and fix it.

And that my friends is why I most likely would be considered and enemy of the state, because I’ve taken very real and definite actions to change the face of Government.

God Damn my unpatriotic ass for using their system against them!

Add all these things up and top it off with I had lunch with a Libertarian the other day and there is no doubt that my godless, sex, driven, capitalist, existence makes me the the only thing I ever could be…a menace to society.

Funny my high school guidance counselor called me a bull shit artist who was wasting his life and talents…maybe I should have gone into politics.

The audio sucks but the guitar (one of my favorite solo’s ever) and vocals are typical of my sound during the early 90’s before the music got really dark.

<!– @page { size: 8.5in 11in; margin: 0.79in } P { margin-bottom: 0.08in } –>

First thanks to all of you who have kept reading, commenting, and sent me email over the past few months. Work life away from myspace and side projects had consumed me almost completely. I lost my sense of humor, and creativity and became even for me very dark. A week laters and two singnatures on a big stack of papers I think I’m slowly becoming my old self again. SO for this piece Consider this the start of a series that will just sort of happen along the way the next one is in process and is called “Staring at naked women for work and inspiration”.

Enjoy

Mal

Ok I write smut. It use to be pretty regularly now its only on occasion. When it comes to literary pursuits I’ve defiled a person sexually in a variety of lurid, violent, and salacious way more times than I can count including recounting a few real life experiences that when looking back at them I wondered who was more deranged me for enjoying it of the woman for often suggesting we take things to such extremes and completely getting off on it.

Just last week I had a hysterically funny swinger conversation with my own Chesty Blonde (who is not really into that scene) and on Saturday night offered to take another woman (the Blonde was right next to me at the time) to a swinger party not far from the party we were standing at. She was flattered until the realization that I might not just be calling her bluff became all too obvious. After which I suggested taking her to a nice fetish social 40 minutes away for a very sound spanking in front of 75 people. She declined on that offer as well. You can’t say I didn’t try.

Recently as I’ve alluded to here I’ve taken to helping out some friends and put a distant part of my past talents to work for them making lingerie videos. So far it has been working from stills to create interesting motion and getting my long lost production skills back but things are moving along nicely.

On average they get about 2500 views a week all over the net which is pretty cool and I get to look at pictures of scantily clad women under the auspicious guise of being able to call it work. Last Sunday I spent six hours combing through the initial submissions and modeling sites looking for models to set up for my first made from scratch video. None of which were half as sexy as many of my friends on here.

Any how my friends give me the email and comment feed back on the latest batch of videos and there is a request that I stop using primarily front shots and to put is as one viewer did “show a little ass”. No problem since first and foremost I consider myself an ass man. I took upon myself to create a piece that features that attribute. After all if lingerie only ever gets seen from the front the thing would have never been created, the lace up and detail on corsets and bustiers would not exist, not to mention I’d have to find other places to put my hands a large percentage of the time. (insert smacking sound of choice…if you’re into that sort of thing of course)

In my art I’ve always walked a fine line between art and writing that I thought told the story or situation in an interesting yet still arousing way rather than a pure bump and grind insert thrust and repeat manner. I

So there I am so proud of my little creation. I send it off the up load it to their myspace profile and it never gets viewed. Off to You Tube, Yahoo video and dozens of others…deleted again and again.

I call them to apologize.

Malflic - “I guess I went too far this time”

Desired Lingerie - “Dude don’t worry about it”

Malflic - “ I’m not sure what the problem is. I’ll re edit it and get it sent over late tonight.”

Desired - “Man I don’t know but fuck’em. Most people could have gotten off to the ones before it too.”

Malflic - “It seemed pretty tame to me, just a lot of g-strings and panning to bedroom eyes”

Desired - “Mike seriously don’t touch it and next time try to make so hot that people just come from watching it and don’t even have to jerk off”

Malflic - “umm…ok”

Desired – “and can you use some girls with Curves”

and there my friends you have it my new goal in life to make a video that can get some one so hot and bothered that they just orgasm. Its a nice ideal but not very attainable in my mind.

Any how here’s the one before the banned one which I don’t think I’ve shared here yet

and you can watch the banned video and its predecessor (in case the link gets blocked http://www.desiredlingerie.com/lingerie-video.aspx )

Let me know which one you think is better because I sure don’t get what was wrong with showing a little extra ass.

If your my friend on here, in real life

or both chances are you aren’t a plain vanilla white bread type.
Well either that or you find my insane diatribes amusing or are
keeping an eye on me to make sure I’m not really the Anti Christ in a
Canali Suit. I’m lying of course I don’t wear Canali suits…shirts
on occasion but not their suits. Only Because I’m far more
traditional in that sense.

Anyhow A few posts back I told a
story about being old. It was funny because it was true. Fair
enough this is another true story, it might be funny, it might be
offensive and it reminded me of why in most places I’m so guarded.

It was a date night for me but not
with the Blonde it was the Father Daughter dance at my Youngest’s
School. She’s 10 in the 4^th grade and I know that in the
next year of so I won’t figure into the equation that is her life
quite as much. From there my relevance and position will only
diminish. So I treasured the night. We had dinner with some of her
friends and their fathers, we went to the social hall inside a church
(and lightning didn’t strike). Last year she danced with only me,
this year she was off with her friends after making sure I was cool
with it. Which was thoughtful and cool by itself.

On the Surface I have a fairly typical
corporate life, a classic family configuration and look like every
other blue blood most of the time. Recently I was asked to join a
men’s social organization…it was something that even the Blonde
Questioned with “you’re not really considering it are?”

To which the reply was. “Lets
see…I’m an Atheist who writes pornography for fun, has very kinky
tendencies, quotes Vonnegut, and openly supports gay rights…do you
think I’ll fit in?” A long smart assed version of NO!

So any how the night wore on and there
was Jonas Brothers and Hannah Montana songs followed by a few more
main stream pop tunes…then High School Musical. All very tame.
Sure my kid didn’t get why they weren’t playing her requests for
Prince tunes but knew that getting them to play Queen or Zappa was
out of the question. Her musical tastes are as eclectic as her
fathers.

Well then it happened….Katy Perry “I
Kissed a Girl” came across the speakers. The 6 of the 8 dads at my
table started to squirm. Now was it the most appropriate song for 1^st
through 5^th grade kids? Probably not but they all knew
the words and were dancing like mad. It was to quote the song
“innocent”. (FYI I have blogged about disliking the song but not
because I think it will make people do ”immoral things” but
because it was in my estimation yet another piece of worthless pop
music)

They went on and on about would the
priests approve! I thought gee I don’t l know but do we approve of
all the priests that have taken advantage of children over the
decades. I kept my mouth shut.

The Diatribes continued and “How
could they play that song” and the typical puritan homophobic type
stuff. As a point of fact I had wondered into a local watering hole
with a few of these same men a week prior and they had no problem
watching two same sex couples fornicating in front of some local red
neck band (Who were actually quite good).

I wondered what they would think if
they knew I had gay friends. Not that I cared for myself but for my
daughter. I wondered how many had an even slightly creative or
artistic bone in their body. Did they ever roam up and down the
Jersey Shore, in to the City down into Maryland living like a
hedonistic nomad in their youth. I doubted it.

The topic of music came up again and
three of us sat fairly silent for a while just listening. This is
the one area of life where I have trouble keeping the facade of who I
am suppose to be and who I am. Very few things get me off in life,
Great Sex, a runners high, a good caffeine buzz, and a song that
touches a nerve.

After hearing how they all “protect”
their kids from this stuff. When asked how I control what my kids
listen to I had to be honest. “I tell them if they are going to
listen to a song or sing the words then they have to tell me what the
words mean if I ask and that if I find out they buy the censored
version of a song they are supporting closed minded fascists which is
very uncool.”

While most turned white, a few got
uncomfortable and I think one Physically wretched.

The conversation evolved, but I was
given a wide berth. It was painfully obvious that we didn’t exactly
share the same values. As the evening wore down we danced a few
more dances and then Piled in a car to go home. I had bummed a ride
with one of the other kids and on the way home the three girls in the
back broke into “I Kissed a Girl” The dad was upset, you could
see him literally turning red. So calmly I asked my kid to sing a
different sing. After being slightly stunned since she had never had
such a request before she just changed to something else with her
friends following suit. The irony here is it was the rap pop thing
“low” which to me other than not being about bisexuality is not
better than the previous selection for subject matter.

Before we got through the front door
she asked “why did you ask me to sing a different song?” I have
the policy of being direct and open. The song was upsetting Mr. B
offering nothing more. She looked at me “well then I guess we
shouldn’t have him over to the same part as T & M” And she
bounced off unphased to tell everyone else about the evening.

T happens to be the mother of one of my
kids friends. M is her partner. And I was so proud that my own kid
seemingly has such an accepting perspective. To her it was as normal
as me and the Blonde being her parents.

As a bonus note on a not related to
this topic I have this to say to a certain Council member who is
trying to stop the winter race series I run in (not that he’ll ever
get to read it) because he doesn’t want have to wait for runners to
pass by when he’s going going to church.

HEY FUCK WAD PATIENCE IS A VIRTUE! IF
YOU KEEP BITCHING ABOUT THE 4 TIMES A YEAR WE RUN BUY I WILL
PERSONALLY ORGANIZE AN INFORMAL SUNDAY MORING RUN THAT PASSES YOUR
HOUSE EVERY WEEK OF THE YEAR.

Fucking Hypocrite!