Excerpt from My First Novel Yellow Socks Confessions of a Non Don Juan

June 4, 2012

An Excerpt from my 2010 novel Yellow Socks- Confessions of a Non Don Juan

 

Skeleton Woman or Things Like Me Don’t Happen To You

 

Christ it happened again. Another notch in my “girls that want to be my friend” belt. It made sense. We were perfect friends and she was real cute too. I kept thinking that I was ok with it. I’d be happy just being a friend again. I keep turning to God for strength to accept my fate as “Friend to all women” that I’m attracted to. My acceptance level seems to be ok. I go to my happy place. I go to my cave. I say the serenity prayer over and over I am sure that I will be ok with this. Yes I will. (no I won’t)

 

Cut to a scene from Fight Club

 

TYLER

Stop it! This is your pain — this is your burning hand. It’s right here! Look at it.

 

JACK

I’m going to my cave. I’m going to my cave to find my power animal!

 

TYLER

No, don’t deal with this the way those dead people do. Come on

!

JACK

I get the point, ok, please!

 

TYLER

No, what you’re feeling is premature enlightenment.

 

Ok. I get the idea. Feel the pain. Feel the hurt. Feel the rejection saturating my heart until I bleed more than just these words all over the place and finger my open sore of a brain as it wants to dwell on her over and over again. Screaming and roaring her name with anger and grief and sometimes a slight relief that it’s done and I know that she will not reject me again unless I go back for more and more or less or a little bite of her cheeseburger and a sip of her Pepsi to tide me over until the next one comes along with better food and spirits for my, for me for. Four scores of seven years itch as I scratch the weathered tired out mongrel of an ego that was left stray years ago in a pound for wayward hearts and letches that can only love and never be loved.

 

The pain of being a friend. A friend. I’ve heard that “Let’s just be friends” millions of times in my life as I gargle a new mouthwash and toothpaste hoping my breath will be the answer to my problem. My problem is as follows: me, myself and I. We altogether are the problem. We want to be loved so bad that we give off the vibe that scares the shit out of women so they just want to be friends. Friends. Friends. I think to myself that will be fine. Friends is ok. It’ll do. I can accept that. Bullshit! Feel the pain I tell myself. Embrace it. the pain is your friend. To hurt is to be alive. I’ve never been so alive. I’m alive. So alive.

 

“Did you ever hear about the skeleton woman?” Morton asked.

 

“Was that a Glam rock band from the seventies?” I ask.

 

“Ha. Ha. Nah. It’s an ancient Indian story. This guy was fishing in the middle of a lake. He was totally into it. He was relaxed. Not a care in the world except catching the next fish. All of a sudden he feels a tug on his line and he yanks it up. A skeleton appears on his line. He doesn’t realize that it’s attached to his line and he gets scared. He starts paddling his boat away from it but it follows him. He still doesn’t realize that it’s attached to his line. He gets out of his boat and runs into the village and he is carrying his fishing rod and the skeleton is still right behind him. He jumps into his Tee Pee and it follows him in. He lies down and tries to hide not looking at it for a while. When he finally turns to look at the skeleton it has changed into the most beautiful woman he has ever seen. She is his. The moral of the story is that he was minding his own business doing something he enjoyed and that’s when the right woman came along. In other words when you are not looking for love is when it will find you. ”

 

“I know that but it’s so fucking hard to stay focused on other things without thinking about how much I want to be loved. Fall in love. Ya know?” I responded.

 

“I know. I know.” Morton said.

 

“We’re a generation of men raised by women. I’m wondering if another woman is really the answer we need.” Tyler Durden

 

To purchase click here

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Fetishes Part 6 – Nyotaimori Sushi and Naked Women

April 6, 2012

Nyotaimori

Fetish. The psychological definition of a fetish is any object or non-genital part of the body that causes a habitual erotic response or fixation.

Paraphilia is a biomedical term used to describe sexual arousal to objects, situations, or individuals that are not part of normative stimulation and that may cause distress or serious problems for the paraphiliac or persons associated with him or her. A paraphilia involves sexual arousal and gratification towards sexual behavior that is atypical and extreme. –Wikipedia

This is part 6 in my weird fetish series. Click here for part 5-Mechanophilia, here for part 4- Formicophilia, here for part 3- Trichophilia, here for part 2 Dacryphilia– and here for part 1- Nasophilia. Today it’s about Technophile.

Nyotaimori (Japanese: 女体盛り, “female body presentation”), often referred to as “body sushi”, is the practice of serving sashimi or sushi from the body of a woman, typically naked. Nantaimori (Japanese: 男体盛り) refers to the same practice using a male model. This subdivision of food play is originally an obscure Japanese practice not common in Japanese culture but that has attracted considerable international media attention. –Wikipedia

Some say it’s an art and others a novelty. Underneath it all there was and is a fetish quality to it and has been since the ancient ritual has begun. For people who love sushi and love mixing food with sex it is an erotic pleasurable experience.

Nyotaimori is the “art” or “fetish” of being aroused eating sushi off of the body of a naked woman or man depending on the party, customer and restaurant and it is one of many fetishes that involve sex and food. Many people enjoy combining these two parts of life because they are both very pleasurable, so you get double the enjoyment by putting them together. There are many restaurants in the U.S. and throughout Europe who use naked models with strategically placed dishes or leaves to serve sushi off of; you just have to enjoy your sushi at body temperature.

There are also body preparation requirements. The body must be thoroughly cleaned with anti-biotic, hypo-allergenic and fragrance free soap. This is followed by splashes of cold water to withstand the cold sushi and keep it cold as long as possible. Some governments require a layer of plastic between the body and the sushi due to sanitation laws and I’m sure this is not as enjoyable for the fetishist.

I’ sure I would try it for the sheer novelty of it like trying any novelty restaurant. I think I’ve said this before, as many kinks and fetishes I do have, mixing food with sex is one thing I can’t stomach.

Although a lot of Nyotaimori is experienced through dinner parties and the hiring of models that can stand still, there are reastaurants as well.

Here’s a website I found called Sushi Nomads http://www.sushinomads.com/sushi-blog/nyotaimori-and-nantaimori-naked-sushi

For all of your Nyotaimori needs.


Wicked Smile

August 16, 2011

The gray wired stem cell recedes as your infected fingers touch it.

Look at the first thing you hear and find the weak spot and torch it with your flame broiled tongue.

Lick it.

Tease me with your green-clouded carcass and my tight gray eyes loosen slightly enough to absorb your fantasy.

My fantasy.

A crowd gathers and gathers watching. Looking. Gazing.

At us. At you.

At me.

Your over qualified charms releases it’s grasp and backs off.

A clear candied sludge covers my smile. Your smile widens and you laugh wickedly. Wicked.

It’s my face. Whispering sweet nonsense. Mumbling my monstrous innocence. Crying for something I think you have.

I want.

Come here before you go. Sit on my jellyfish clammy lap and try not to fall off and run away.

From me.

Go now, dear lethargic lethal lover.

Go.


The Artsy Girl – an Excerpt from my novel Yellow Socks

July 11, 2011

The Artsy Girl (as it originally appeared in Yellow Socks: Confessions of a Non-Don Juan)

 

Living with Terry and Morton was a blast. They were both in their early thirties and I was in my late twenties. We are all artists in one way or another and we were all on the prowl for the ladies as we clumsily tried to pick them up at coffee shops, AA meetings, bars, art shows and anywhere else we thought that we could find our type.

 

Our types varied. Terry was obsessed with finding a “Vampire chick” or a “Goth Chick’. Ironically he dressed kind of standard 1988 in 1995. He had that bob cut hair. It was kind of long on the sides and real short in the back. Morton was after the “Rocker Chick Slut” or the “New Age Hippie chick.” He usually dressed the part either wearing his new age outfit or his Rock star clothes. He had long black died hair. As for me, I stood by with my usual requirements: any good-looking girl that actually liked me. We rarely found what we were looking for after obsessing day and night about these fantasy girls we would never have. We had fun in our bonding of failures with the ladies.

 

We all lived in a house that Terry owned in a town on the outskirts of Camden, NJ. It was a poor neighborhood and was becoming racially mixed. It was mostly poor minorities and white trash. The chances of ever seeing hot chicks that fit our tastes were next to impossible.

 

Then she appeared. A young girl of maybe seventeen walked by our house every day around 5:30 pm. She dressed a little on the “alternative” side. It was around the end of the grunge years and that’s when the poor neighborhoods usually take over a style is when the middle class is done with it. Always a step behind. Kind of like us. So Terry nicknamed her the “Artsy Girl” because he says she dresses artsy. It was a style that was once artsy but not now. The three of us became obsessed with her. Everyday at 5:30 one of us would call to the others “Artsy Girl!” and we’d all come running to the kitchen window to see her.

 

“Artsy Girl!” I said.

 

“Where?” Terry said.

 

“I don’t see her. Did I miss her?” Morton said.

 

“Stop fucking with us, man. This is the highlight of our day. We don’t need to be teased.” Terry said.

 

“Sorry. I just think that it’s funny that we all start salivating the minute someone rings the Artsy Girl bell.” I said.

 

She was cute in her little flowered dresses and her Doc Martins. She had medium length reddish brown hair and pretty brown eyes.

 

One day I was walking home from the train and I ended up walking home with her. She didn’t acknowledge ever seeing me before. Thank God. She didn’t know what a letch I was. Her name was Megan. She just got out of High School. She was going to start working at the local convenience store. I was going to hit on her then I realized that she was just a regular little girl. That’s ok but not for me. When we got to my house I felt sadness in her eyes that I was going home without hitting on her or asking her for her phone number. After getting to know her the thrill of the “Artsy Girl” vanished. I realized that I am not the letch I thought. She was too young and too inexperienced in life.

 

I still fucked with the roommates though. I still gave them the mating call of the Artsy Girl. They still kept a running. I never felt the same again.

Purchase your copy of Yellow Socks; Confessions of a Non-Don Juan here.


Nightmares and Dreams Video Experiment

July 9, 2011

Home.

Bed

Dream.

Smile. Dream.

Nightmare.

Fear.

Sexual delight

Frustration

Proactive


Fetishes Part 5- Agalmatophilia: Dolls and Mannequins Fetish

June 28, 2011

 

Fetish. The psychological definition of a fetish is any object or non-genital part of the body that causes a habitual erotic response or fixation.

Paraphilia is a biomedical term used to describe sexual arousal to objects, situations, or individuals that are not part of normative stimulation and that may cause distress or serious problems for the paraphiliac or persons associated with him or her. A paraphilia involves sexual arousal and gratification towards sexual behavior that is atypical and extreme. –Wikipedia

This is part 5 in my weird fetish series. Click here for part 4, here for part 3, here for part 2 and here for part 1. Today it’s about Agalmatophilia.

Agalmatophilia is the sexual attraction to statues, dolls, mannequins and other inanimate objects resembling people. It’s a sexual arousal one gets from these objects. Agalmatophilia includes the actual sex act with a statue, doll, mannequin etc., non sexual encounters pretending they are real and converse with the objects, the fantasy of sexual and non-sexual relations, watching encounters between other people and the objects and between the objects themselves (like having Barbie fuck Ken), and some have the fantasy of the sexual pleasure form the idea of being transformed into the object itself. Agalmatophilia may also include Pygmalion’s (from the myth of Pygmalion), which is a love for one’s actual creation of a such objects mentioned above.

This one word covers a wide territory in this unusual yet semi-popular paraphilia. I think back to when I was an extremely horny teen and I bought a blow up doll named Candy. I wrote a story similar to my experience in my novel, Yellow Socks: Confessions of a Non-Don Juan. I tried it out a few times and got bored so I guess I’m not an Agalmatophiliac. I did want to try out a Real Doll. You know the special $6.000 life size and life like women they make per order and how you want her. I don’t think I’d spend the money even if I had it. Maybe.

When I was a kid my biological family was worried that I might be gay (they were quite prejudice)  because I owned “dolls” as they called them. I called them action figures. I bought the Charlie’s Angels action figures and played with them. I was too young to think about actually having sex with them but I did undress them quite a bit. For a while I thought women were crotchless based on my “doll” experience.

I also have owned mannequins and dressed them up in pantyhose and sexy dresses. I had a few fantasies but it wasn’t overwhelming enough to do anything to the “object”. She was cute with no head. I made her one. Or two.

Ok maybe I am part Agalmatophiliac.. How about you?

Next up . . . . . Fetish number 6 . . .Whatever I find as interesting, repulsive or relatable.


Live Book Reading from Yellow Socks Video

April 29, 2011

Now you can read it yourself. Just click the Yellow Socks cover pic.


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