Maybe I should make up one of those rhymes so that I can remember:

All's clear, never fear. Yellow or green makes snot mean.

Yeah. Something like that.

So, I got my own, personal little anti-war protest in my guestbook. Since the signature is extra anonymous, I don't know if it's someone going systematically through Diaryland looking for hawks or if it's one of my regular readers, who I'm sure are dwindling since my updates have become so irregular.

Since it's impossible to link a specific guestbook entry, I'll just quote it here [punctuation errors and typos left intact].

"Support your soldiers? what about the innocent Iraqi / Afghan etc etc people they are killing and maiming all for the pursuit of oil for your greedy nation to further your quest for global dominance and control. Your foreign policy is corrupt. Your administration is a corrupt bunch of gangsters led by an illiterate, idiotic daddy's boy who wasn't even elected to serve. So how dare you lecture the rest of the world on democracy!! We are fine without you thanks - all you do is take while people liek the Iraqi's suffer."
�ann ti war

And my response (with paragraph returns added because I hate it that you can't make paragraph returns in the guestbook).

"Yes, I support our soldiers. I haven't made any of my views on the war itself public, but I do support the men and women out there who are doing a job that very few people would want to do and putting their lives on the line in a fight they probably didn't bargain for.

"I think that most Americans who join the armed forces join for noble reasons, like wanting to be protect our freedom and our country, or they join to further their education or for a career with good benefits, and I'm sure a lot signed up in the emotional aftermath of 9/11. But once you're in, no matter what you believe, you have to do what you're ordered to do and go where you're ordered to go. So I'm happy to try to lend my support.

"On George Bush, I will remain silent at present and be thankful that, now that we're in it and there's no going back, things seem to be in the hands of military generals who know what they're doing.

"And for the record, I'm pretty sure that I have never ever lectured the rest of the world on democracy."

I may have to eat those words about the generals knowing what they're doing, but from my perspective they seem to be doing okay with what they've got.

I haven't heard from either of my guys yet, but it's still very early days. I've sent a couple more care packages and a letter or four since the last time I updated. I need to remember to send stamps and envelopes. Every day I look over the news stories of casualties and POWs and check for their names. That tends to make it all a little more real.

My big news of the week is that I may be heading back to the couch. Not for a nap, like usual, but back for therapy of my psycho. It's been 15 wonderful years since the last time I was in therapy, and my last dose seems to have worn out.

Ahh, if only I could have my old therapist back. I had a small enough of a crush on her for it not to be anything to worry about but big enough to make sure that I really paid attention to everything she said. She coined the term "Typical Southern Disfunctional Family" [or TSDF] to describe the main cause behind what needed fixin' with me. We didn't have any loopy aunties hidden in the attic or anything, there was just a solid foundation of non-communication. And no big emotions, positive or negative. Be reserved. Be in control. And don't talk about anything that has to do with feelings.

In my previous bout of therapy I essentially learned how to identify my feelings and what to do with them. It's like I missed that episode of Sesame Street.

"How do you feel when someone breaks your favorite toy on purpose?"
"MAD!"
"That's right. You feel mad. Everybody put on your mad face."
"Grrrrrrr."

Anger was an especially big problem with me. See, Deborah the first had left me for another woman, and I could do sad, but I couldn't do mad. It came out eventually, but it came out-of-control.

Lately the stuff swirling around inside my head controls me more than I control it. I've tried venting or figuring it out with a couple very generous online friends who were kind enough to listen, but it's become clear that I'm not able to do what it takes to get rid of it without some serious, $120/hour help. Yes, on Wednesday I go to meet my potential new PsychoTherapist. She's one of the few in Georgia who's okely-dokely with queerness, polyamory, S&M, and gender fuck. And, if I remember correctly, she's not all annoyingly Rainbow Troutwomon either.

She used to write an advice column for the newspaper I worked for, and I was her editor. Yes, I'm getting psychotherapy from Ms. Behavior. Heh. I wish. What great therapy that would be. We'll see how it goes.

Tori and Mike

They met as his home to prepare for a presentation they were assigned to do in their human sexuality class. At the beginning of the semester they were randomly assigned partners and topics. Their topic is BDSM.

After some basic generalities and such, they began to talk about what they would cover. It didn't take long to discover that her viewpoint on BDSM was not in line with his.

She's a sophomore or junior who's read a lot and thinks she's very well informed. He's an older, returning student with a house of his own. He left college and joined the Army, then the workforce for a little while, then went back to college. I'm thinking he's about 29 to her 19 or 20. He's also been into BDSM, starting in college.

They argued for quite a while. She stating that people who practice BDSM are crazy. Him telling her they're not.

He takes her to the darkened hallway in the back of her house and asks her to trust him to show her what he means. She won't. He tries to reason with her. He puts his hand behind her neck and kisses her. She kisses him back but protests his doing it in the first place when he stops. He gently but firmly turns her toward the wall, pressing her up against it. She keeps arguing, but her breathing tells him she's excited.

Finally he turns her loose and goes back to being all business. She can go. He'll talk to her on Monday about the assignment. Or she can stay and they'll go upstairs and he'll give her an introduction to S&M so that she'll have a basis to criticize from if she likes. He knows she's dying of curiosity and more than a little arousal.

She started stipulating boundaries and he agreed to most of them. She would take her shirt off, but that's it. He could only touch her outside her clothes below the waste.

He promised her he wouldn't hurt her or do anything that she hadn't agreed to within her boundaries.

She said she wouldn't have sex with him.

He said no. Deal's off.

She started arguing hard. Why? Why can't you show me without having sex with me?

He grinned and admitted that he could, that he just wanted to have sex with her. He capitulated and agreed to no sex. She also insisted on a 10 minute time limit. He tried for 15. She wouldn't budge. They arranged for safe words, and he took her upstairs.

He was prepared for her to freak out at the equipment in his bedroom. He told her to look around and ask questions, but it wasn't coming out of his 10 minutes. She pointed at various items saying, "No. No. No. NO." And, "What's that?" [Weet, we were both thinking of you for a second there.] pointing to the rolled up futon. He told her it was a large bolster. She asked what for. He said to put someone at the right height for more fun things.

She takes her shirt off and I make her put it back on so that I can remove it myself later.

I have her hold her hands behind her head and when she slips and tries to put them around me I force them back to where they were. She asks what would happen if she put them back down again. I tell her I would reposition them again. And if she did it one more time, I would hold them there myself and feed her my cock until she choked.

I take her down to her knees after talking shit into her ear and kissing her. I ask her if she's wet. She admits she is and later quietly asks why the domination excites her. I tell her that it allows her to tap into and experience the primal fight or flight instinct while knowing that she's safe.

Her on her knees as I'm about to push her face into my crotch, saying "No. Don't." and I remind her, "You're new. And you're saying, 'don't.' Do you understand?" She nods yes and I rub her face across my hard cock and then open my fly and feed it to her.

I take her shirt off and then tie her hands in front of her. She asks why tying someone up excites me, and I explain it to her.

Wrestling with her to take her pants off. She's wearing a thong. She screams no and tries to get away. I play with her like a cat. Fighting to get at her bare breasts clamped under her crossed arms. Laughing.

There's a lot of checking in and readjusting to find out what she likes. What's turning her on and what's pissing her off.

Finally I fuck her and she comes hard. I have her get on her knees and fuck her again.

I haven't come yet, and she tells me that her partners always tire before she does. Then I fuck her with my hand and she comes buckets. Tori is surprised and aghast, thinking that she's peed while coming. I explain to her about the G-spot. Which is why I put the towel under her. She admits that, after that she might not be able to keep going until morning.

Cuddling.

Nothing out of the ordinary in the way of casualties.

Moving on - 12:11 p.m. , 2007-08-14

Where the hell have I been? - 12:10 p.m. , 2007-02-19

Holy shit! - 2:24 p.m. , 2006-01-11

Stuffing recipe - 6:17 p.m. , 2005-12-13

Good Life Update - 10:22 a.m. , 2005-11-11