Our sexual Dreams – like life , are finite … Bounded by our time on this planet,. Societal rules. And measurements. It’s where we must lean on a Mistress for support. Where we rejoice in each other’s fantasies. Where we share lessons about our perceived place in the world. Together we increase compassion through the mirror of each session’s mixed results. A man and his mistress … their character revealed. for nothing goes according to plan Getting older is wonderful … and terrible. Triumphant … and heartbreaking. Our identity is formulated in failures. Fall seven times? Get up eight. Thus in the face of certain weakness before me , will you maintain the struggle? Can you lift a memory from …
Huddled together , furtive and vulnerable , like a rat in a maze. From the furthest corner of the lifeless room , I take count of the brainless denziens which surround me. Careful never to make eye contact I shrivel myself into nothingness and pleasently seem to make myself disappear. Yet my ears exist and there is no escape from the meaningless ramblings of the crazed prophet whose hideous voice is amplified a million fold by the dildo-ous looking microphone gripped in his hand. His singular purpose , to rob these swine of their will so that they will grow ever more ignorant , if such a thing were possible. An inner voice laughs manaically to myself. For while their …
“It’s just embarrassing, that’s what it is. I mean, there’s no way a girl should even consider telling me what to do and there’s actaally no way I’d obey. So listen, I’ll be here when you’re ready to date a real guy, but first … you’ll have to stop being a girl like that.” This, written to me by an ESL teacher who’s chances with me were fading quicker than LeBron James’ hairline having being rebuked in twenty two consecutive emails , is a microcosm of the attitudes pervasive throughout most men looking to date in this city. That he went on to call me a prostitute one sentence later and then ended that email by verbally “leaving the door …
